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THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 

GIFT  OF 

California  Si  '  jrary 


id  lor  .ill  i  c  ii  Itii  -  und  i  thit    \ ■  '. 


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CONTENTS. 


OIAP.  rta* 

I.    Tom  Fletcher  the  Carrier  is  overtaken   by  a 

Pedestrian  Stranger  ....  3 

II.   John  Fox  settles  himself  at  Lenisc*r        .     .        14 

III.  Double  Lights  are  thrown  across  John  Fox  30 

IV.  A  Startling  Sight  introduces  a  Strange  Story    38 
V.    The  Flamsteads  and  their  Fortunes      .  .       45 

VI.  New  Fortunes  of  the  Flamsteads  .  .  .  64 
VII.  A  Cloud  on  the  Sunshine  ....  78 
VIII.    Dark  Days 100 

IX.    Friends  in  Need  and  Plans  in  Need       .  .114 

X.    The  Last  Drop  to  the  Full  Cup       .  .129 

XI.   John  Fox  again     ......     141 

XII.   The  Old  Clock  wound  up  again  .  155 


MY    UNCLE   THE    CLOCKMAKER 


CHAPTER  I. 


TOM    FLETCHER     THE    CARRIER    IS    OVERTAKEN    BY    Jk 
PEDESTRIAN    STRANGER. 

The  dusk  of  an  April  evening  was  falling  sombrely 
over  the  earth,  as  a  heavily-laden  covered  cart  paused 
at  the  foot  of  a  long  ascent  towards  a  village  in 
Derbyshire.  The  cart  was  piled  up  with  all  sorts 
of  tubs,  boxes,  and  packages,  such  as  are  generally 
seen  in  the  cart  of  a  village  carrier  who  goes  weekly 
between  his  own  hamlet  and  the  next  market  town, 
taking  thither  the  eggs,  butter,  &c.  of  his  neighbours, 
and  bringing  them  back  sundry  things  from  the  shops 
in  return,  besides  lots  of  things  for  the  little  shop- 
keepers of  the  village — tea-chests,  sugar-tubs,  soap- 
boxes, brushes,  and  the  like.  Ay,  many  a  time  had 
the  lads  of  the  villages  through  which  that  old  cart 
passed  weekly,  got  behind  it  to  speculate  on  the 
precious  contents  of  those  packages.  The  little  round 
casks  that  made  their  mouths  water,  for  they  knew 
that  they  were  full  of  figs;  those  mats,  that  were 
stitched  up  so  provokingly  close,  and,  no  doubt,  were 
almost  bursting  with  oranges,  or  nuts,  or  almonds,  or 
raisin?  ;  and  those  long  boxes  with  split  hazel  bands 
on  the  outside,  and  so  slightly  made,  that  when  the 
bands  were  loosened,  they  seemed  as  if  they  would 
fall  to  pieces.  What  did  those  long,  pointed,  flag- 
like leaves,  that  stuck  out  between  the  box  and  the 


4      tom  Ki.r.TCinn  the  carrier  is  overtake* 

lid,  tell  of  lint  Spanish  juice?  Thai  old  carl  was  a 
regular  tantalizer every  Baturday  afternoon,  as  it  went 
slowly  homeward  through  half-a-dozen  villages  and 
paused,  i ■  •  > t  for  a  vi  ry  short  time,  occasionally  before 
the  village  ale-houses,  for  the  carrier  to  wash  tho 
dust   out    of  hi-*   throat,  as    he   said.      Vol    a   most 

slovenly  and  dirty  old  vehicle  it  was,  nevertheh 

■plashed  and  d  rabed  np  to  the  very  awning  of  tar- 

pauling  with  one  layer  uf  mud  on  another;  <or  the 
roads  there,  in  those  days,  were  of  a  most  terrific 
nature,  and  old  Tom  Fletcher  the  carrier  thought  it 
totally  waste  of  time  to  wash  his  cart,  though  he  had 

a  week  to  do  it  in,  being  of  the  opinion  of  D-  in 
Swift's  servant,  that  it  would  soon  want  doing  again. 
The  very  board  <>n  which  his  name  was  painted,  as 
by  law  required,  was  so  splashed  over,  that  nobody 
was  any  the  wiser  for  it  ;  and  the  oil-horn,  which 
contained  the  greasing  for  the  wheels,  and  hung 
dangling  at  the  ride  of  one  of  the  said  wheels,  was  so 
encrusted  with  repeated  layers  of  mud,  that  a  very 
animated  dispute  might  have  been  held  as  to  the  fact 
of  its  being  a  horn  at  all.  That  it  was  for  the  pur- 
pose of  lubricating  the  cart  axles,  you  could  see  by 
the  quill  end  of  a  great  stout  turkey's  feather  sticking 
up  out  of  it,  and  partly  keeping  open  the  lid. 

The  cart  was  drawn  by  a  sturdy  hay  horse,  wh 
■haggy  heels  were  also  loaded  with  the  mud  of  the 
roads,  and  no  -mall  quantity  of  the  same  abundant 
article  hung  on  his  sides  and  in  his  long  mane,  which 
was  of  pale  tawny  hair,  as  ifit  had  Keen  faded  by  the  sun. 
The  horse,  which  was,  moreover,  what  is  called  abald- 

I  one,  thai  is,  had  the  greater  part,  and  one  eye, 
white,  was  as  remarkable  a  looking  beasl  as  you  could 
chance  to  see.     He  appeared  to  understand  his  husi- 

;is  well  as  his  master;  and  when  he  came  to  the 


BY    A    PEDESTRIAN     STRANGER.  5 

foot  of  this  ascent,  he  quietly  stood  still  without  his 
driver  having  to  say  "  Wo."  He  had  stopped  on  this 
spot,  to  an  inch,  every  Saturday  evening,  at  about 
the  same  time,  for  the  last  seven  years;  and,  indeed, 
through  the  whole  ten  miles  of  road  that  he  was 
accustomed  to  drag  his  load,  summer  and  winter,  he 
had  his  regular  places  to  stop,  or  to  draw  on  more 
actively,  and  his  times  for  pausing,  which  he  regulated 
with  very  little  order  or  direction  from  his  master. 
Indeed,  so  exact  had  the  habits  of  the  horse  become, 
that  when  he  stopped  out  of  his  regular  routine,  or 
stood  still  longer  than  his  wont,  Tom  Fletcher  the 
carrier  would  say,  "  What  ails  thee,  Smiler  I "  and 
would  instantly  look  to  see  if  his  gears  were  all  right, 
or  if  he  had  got  a  pebble  in  his  foot ;  and  if  he  did 
not  discover,  which,  however,  was  seldom  the  case, 
the  cause  of  this  deviation  from  Smiler's  usual  habits, 
would  say,  "  Od  rot  thee,  what  ails  thee  ?  arta  turn- 
ing lazy,  or  arta  getting  oud  like  thy  mester?  Cup, 
man,  that  '11  niver  do;  we  canna  afford  to  get  either  oud 
or  lazy  !  Gee  !  corn-mother- who  !  "  and  a  crack  of  his 
whip  put  fresh  life  into  the  faithful  old  creature. 

Tom  Fletcher  himself  was  as  complete  a  character 
as  his  horse,  nay,  he  was  so  much  of  a  character,  that 
he  would  not  have  set  the  value  of  a  straw  on  his 
horse  if  it  had  not  been  a  kind  of  oddity,  and  had 
had  a  will  of  its  own.  Tom  was  a  sturdily-built 
man  of  nearly  sixty  years  of  age,  forty  of  which  he 
had  plodded  once  a-week  over  this  very  ground  to 
the  town  of  Nottingham  and  back.  His  figure  now 
stooped  considerably  forward,  and  except  when  he 
stopped  to  speak  to  any  one,  he  went  along  beside 
his  cart,  with  his  face  directed  on  the  ground  before 
him,  as  if  he  were  in  deep  thought,  although  what 
his  thoughts  were  about,  it  would  have  been  difficult 

b2 


O        TOM     111    nillll    TIIK    CAKHIF.R    IS    OVKHTAKK"* 

to  say.  When  he  did  lift  up  his  head  to  speak 
to  you,  or  to  address  his  word  of  oommand  i  r 
of  encouragement  to  Bmiler,  you  then  saw  a  ruddy 

face,  full  of  el g  Bense  and  dry  humour.      1 1  is  large 

grey  eyes  had  a  quiet  knowing  look,  from  under  the 
broad  brim  of  his  old  bat,  that  bad  generally  a  penny- 
worth of  whip-cord  twisted  under  the  band,  in  case 
he  should  Lose  that  from  his  lash.  He  wore  sturdy 
tall  ankle  boots,  and  old  leather  Leggins,  and  over  his 
OOat    u   blue  carter's  frock,  which   frock,  us   lie    went 

along,  w  i-  generally  twisted  up,  and  tucked  in  at  the 

waist,  so  as  to  allow  him  to  keen  a  hand  in  each 
capacious  outside  pocket  of  his  coat,  with  his  whip 
Bticking  np  behind  his  arm.    Out  of  these  pockets 

his  hands  wen-  seldom  drawn,  except  to  lift  and  crack 
his  whip,  to  lift  the  heer-pot  to  his  mouth  at  the  road- 
side alehouse,  or  to  pull  forth  and  deliver  a  letter,  (or 
lie  was  the  postman  along  his  whole  line,  or  to  drag 
out  some  package  from  his  cart. 

Tom  was  a  man  of  much  business,  for,  besides  all 
the  letters,  newspapers,  and  packets  that  lie  had  to 
receive,  and  with  them  a  most  bewildering  host  of 
directions  how  tiny  were  to  be  delivered  in  Notting- 
ham, when  he  got  there,  from  farmers  and  i 
and  their  wives,  and  from  young  men  and  girls  to 
their  sweet-hearts,  and  how  lie  was  to  bring  answers 
back  ;  and  then  all  the  popping  out  of  doors  and 
garden  gates  a-  he  came  back,  to  receive  these 
answers,  and  all  the  scoldings  he  got  for  not  finding 
this  or  that  person  at  home,  and  for  not  bringing 
answers  which  had  never  been  sent  ;  besides  all  this, 
it  was  a  manufacturing  district,  and  he  had  a  whole 
mountain  of  white  bags  of  stockings  to  carry  to 
Nottingham,  and  of  cotton  to  bring  from  it,  with  a 
pocket-full   of  money   for  the    work  done.      Tom 


BY    A    PEDESTRIAN    STRANGER.  7 

Fletcher  was  a  man,  we  may  be  assured,  eagerly 
looked  for  at  home  on  a  Saturday  night.  But  spite 
of  this,  he  never  hurried  himself.  All  his  motions 
were  as  regular  as  clock-work.  He  started  to  a 
minute  from  home  in  the  morning ;  at  the  very 
moment  when  the  toll-bar  men  expected  him  to  be 
up,  and  open  their  gates  for  him,  for  he  commenced  his 
journey  at  two  or  three  o'clock  in  the  morning,  he 
was  there ;  and  it  was  a  rare  thing  if  he  were  not 
seen  coming  up  the  lane  into  his  own  village  within 
half-an-hour  of  his  regular  time.  Tom  was  a  crabbed 
sort  of  fellow  in  his  manner,  and  if  any  one  began  to 
question  him,  as  to  what  had  made  him,  on  any  occasion, 
a  few  minutes  later  than  usual,  it  put  him  amazingly 
out  of  humour,  and  he  would  bluntly  and  tartly  say, 
"  You  sitten  a-whom  here,  and  thinken  that  a 
hundred  things  can  be  done  just  as  soon  as  one ( 
Now,  do  just  set  off  to  Nottingham,  and  run  round 
to  a'  the  hosiers'  warehouses,  and  the  grocers'  and 
drapers'  shops,  and  carry  a'  th'  silly  bits  o'  love- 
letters  a'  round  the  town,  and  come  back  to  a  quarter 
of  an  hour,  and  I'll  gie  ye  the  cart  and  horse  and  every 
thing  into  the  bargain.  Do  pray  ye,  now  try  it — try 
it,  and  dunna  bother  me." 

But  Tom  was  not  yet  got  home  to  have  these 
questions  put  to  him.  He  was  standing  at  the  bot- 
tom of  the  hill  about  two  miles  from  home.  Smiler 
had  made  his  usual  number  of  snorts  and  blowings, 
as  if  to  clear  his  wind  and  wind-pipe,  and  take  in  a 
stock  of  breath  for  the  long  pull  up  the  hill ;  and 
Tom  Fletcher  had  just  picked  up  a  great  pebble  to 
scotch  the  wheel  with  when  Smiler  should  stop  again 
in  the  ascent  to  rest ;  and  they  were  about  to  go  on, 
when  up  came  a  stranger  and  asked  Tom  how  far  it 
was  to  the  next  village. 


8       TOM    KLETC1I1  It     IHK    <  AllllllU    ||    nV  Kit  TAKEN 

uAs  near  a:  I  can  tell,"  said  Tom,  eying  the  in- 
quirer, "and  I  have  gone  it  some  four  thousand  times, 
it  a  about  two  mile  there  and  one  back  again." 

M  How  can  that  be  ?"  said  the  stranger  ;  M  1  should 
think  it  must  be  just  as  Em  one  way  as  the  other." 

"  Well,  try  it  then,  try  it— what  a  the  use  oi 
axim;  me,  if  you  known  bettor  than  th'  barn  natives? 
Try  it,  and  you'll  soon  know.    Gee-up,  Siniler,  ladl" 

And  with  that  on  went  Smiler  in  good  earnest, 
like  a  sensible  beast,  knowing  that  a  tough  job  was 
before  him.     The  old  cart  went  on,  lumbering  up 

the    dirty  lane,    and    its-   wheels  jarring   in    the    deep 

rata,  and  Tom,  with  his  hands  in  his  coat-pockets, 
went  on  by  its  side,  looking  on  the  ground,  as  if 
he  had  totally  dismissed  the  stranger  from  his  mind. 
The  stranger,  who  was  a  middle-sized  hut  broad- 
built  man.  of  apparently  Tom's  own  age,  went  on 
slowly  aft.r,  seeming  also  to  think  no  more  of  the 
churlish  carrier,  than  the  carrier  did  of  him,  but  to 
peer  about  in  the  twilight,  as  if  to  take  cogniaa 
of  what  soil  of  a  road  he  was  in.  He  now  turned 
round,  and  gazed,  BS  well  as  the  feeble  remains  of 
light  would  permit,  down  the  road,  then  lifted  his 
eyes  to  the  high  hedges  which  stood  on  equally  high 
banks  on  each  aide  of  the  lane;  and  then  went  on 
again  looking,  or  endeavouring  to  look,  int..  the  banks, 
as  if  he  would  fain  discover  what  plants  grew  tin  re. 

It  was,  indeed,  a  delicious  hour  and  scene.      The 
hedges,   composed    of   tall,  overhanging   bushes  of 

hawthorn,  crab  and    hazel,  were  already  partly  green 

with  their  unfolding  leaves;  and  the  hanks  be- 
Death  them  sent  forth  on  the  twilight  air  every 
now  and  then  the  most  delicious  odour  of  violets 
that  grew  thickly  upon  them.  The  showers  of 
April  had  at  once  left  a  balmy  softness  in  the  air, 


BY    A    PEDESTRIAN    STRANGER.  9 

that  it  was  a  luxury  to  breathe,  and  had  called 
forth  the  spirit  of  the  violet  and  the  primrose  to 
revive  in  the  heart  the  memory  of  many  a  departed 
spring.  It  seemed  to  do  this  in  the  bosom  of  the 
stranger,  for  he  went  on  with  slower  pace,  pausing 
sometimes  and  uttering  to  himself — "charming! 
charming!"  But,  awakening  again  as  out  of  his 
reverie,  he  moved  faster.  The  carrier's  cart  could  no 
longer  be  seen  through  the  gloom,  but.  could  still  be 
heard  rattling  on  its  way,  and  every  now  and  then 
stopping,  while  the  voice  of  the  carrier  was  loudly 
heard  with  its  "  Wo  !  wo  !  so  then,  Smiler  !  "  as  he 
clapped  the  great  pebble  under  the  wheel,  to  keep 
the  cart  from  running  back. 

The  stranger  again  came  up  to  him,  and,  as  if  not 
at  all  regardful  of  the  man's  crabbed  manner,  said, 
"  Well,  how  is  it  now,  my  friend,  that  you  make  it 
out  to  be  twice  as  far  to  the  village,  as  it  is  from  it 
to  the  bottom  of  the  hill  1 " 

"  Why,  what  should  measure  distance,  but  time 
and  labour?"  said  Tom  Fletcher;  "  It  's  all  up  hill 
there,  and  all  down  hill  back  again  ;  and  if  it  do  not 
take  you  twice  as  long,  and  cost  you  twice  as  much 
pains  to  go  one  way  as  the  other,  why  then,  call  me 
a  sand-bag." 

"  Aha !  no  bad  way  of  reckoning,  after  all,  and 
rather  new,  too,  which  is  something,"  said  the 
stranger ;  "  but  are  you  the  Leniscar  carrier  now-a- 
days  %  When  I  was  in  this  country  before,  it  was 
one  Dick  Anthony.  The  roads  were  worse  then 
than  now,  which  are  still  the  worst  I  have  seen  these 
twenty  years;  and  Dick  went  manfully  through 
them  for  many  a  year.      Is  he  still  living?" 

"  Living?"  exclaimed  the  carrier,  "  why,  do  you 
think  folks  live  here   for   ever  ?       I  can  tell    you 


10    TOM    FLKTCUl-.n    Til  K    CAIUUKU    IS    OVKHTAKKN 

that  I  have  been  the  Leniacar  carrier  t  In  >•■  forty  years, 
and  Dick  Anthony  has  been  just  that  time  in  hit  grave !" 
kw()li,  indeed  !  Poor  Dick,  how  soon  be  must  have 
gone  oil'.  Little  did  1  think,  when  1  laughed  at  hi* 
fright  in  these  lanes,  that  be  wu  so  near  bis  end.  If 
you  knew    Dick,  you  knew  that  he   was  too   fond  of 

• 

hot  ale,  with  ginger  in  it,  on  his  winter  journeys, 
and  used  sometimes  to  be  missing  for  whole  days 
when  he  ought  to  have  brought  home  the  poor 
people's  things  and  money.  .Many  a  time  have  they 
had  to  si  t  "in  to  seek  him,  and  generally  found  him 
in  a  public-house  at  Kimberly  drinking  with  tho 
toners  of  the  village.  On  one  occasion  he  said  ho 
had  hud  such  a  fright  that  he  dared  not  venture 
forward,  that  he  had  seen  the  foul  fund.  When 
asked,  however,  to  describe  him,  he  could  give  no 
further  account  of  him,  than  that  he  was  kall  spottcJ 
and  spangled.'  The  laughter  of  the  villagers  was 
excessive,  and  it  became  a  common  by-word,  that 
a  thing  was  'all  spotted  and  spangled,'  like  Dick 
Anthony's  devil.     Poor  Dick  !" 

M  Mester,"  said  Tom  Fletcher,  who  now  began  to 
appear  as  curious,  as  he  hail  before  been  crusty,  M  \o 
seem  to  ha'  a  famous  memory.  What  yo  sen  is  a 
by-word  here  yet." 

"  And  who  are  living  of  the  old  people  here  yet  T 
continued  the  Btranger.  "  Is  parson  Gould,  o/ 
squire  Hunter,  or  Ned  Jackson  the  barber,  or  Ikttj 
Garner  the  pinder's  widow,  or  old  Thomas  Hall,  ta 
who?  What  is  become  of  the  Hilliards;  are  they 
still  here?  and  Hives  the  miller,  and  those  hand- 
some sons  of  his  ?" 

"Beleddy,  Mester,  yo 're  a  dab  hand  at  axing 
questions,  at  ony  rate  !  One  has  to  look  back  a' 
nation  long   way  into  one's  books  to  find  what  yo 


BY    A    PEDESTRIAN    STRANGER.  11 

axen  after.  Most  o'  th'  oud  folks  yo  talkon  on  would 
be  oud  folks  wi'  a  vengeance,  if  they  were  living 
now  !  Uh,  fee,  fi,  fo,  fum,  why,  they  've  been  dead 
and  gone  a'  most  these  half-hundred  years.  I 
question  if  th'  sexton  could  find  their  graves  even, 
he  s  had  such  generations  to  put  to  bed  with  his 
spade  since  their  time  !  But  I  think  it 's  my  turn 
now  to  ax  a  question,  and  that  is,  and  pray,  who 
may  yo  be?  Wer  ye  barn  here  1  Wer  ony  o' th' 
oud  ancients  ye  've  been  axing  after  yo  're  relations  ? 
or  how  war  it  ?  Here  yo  ha  been  of  a  sartinty ;  and 
I,  that  has  spent  a'  my  days  here,  should  know 
Bummat  about  ye!" 

"  It's  but  little  that  you'll  remember  of  me,  my 
friend.  I  used  to  come  here  on  business  when  I  was 
a  youth,  often.  I  was  not  from  here,  and  none  of 
these  people,  nor  indeed  any  people  in  this  village  of 
Highknoll,  were  related  to  me.  But  with  the  fond- 
ness for  scenes  where  the  light-hearted  days  of  our 
youth  were  more  or  less  spent — I  have  a  great  liking 
for  much  of  this  neighbourhood,  and  have  always 
determined,  if  I  lived,  one  day  to  visit  it  again.  Ah  ! 
beautiful,  beautiful  days  have  I  spent  here  !  But 
you  go  on  farther,  do  you  not — to  Leniscar? 
Thither  I  am  desirous  of  going.  I  have  a  wish  to 
stay  there  awhile  this  spring.  If  the  reality  equal 
the  sweetness  of  my  memory  perhaps  I  may  there 
end  my  days.  Is  the  place  as  still,  as  retired,  as  old- 
fashioned  as  it  was  ?  Are  its  old-fashioned  cottages, 
thatched  and  half-timbered,  still  standing  in  their 
orchards  and  under  their  great  walnut  trees ;  or  has 
the  busy,  meddling,  maiming  rage  for  modern  im- 
provements, like  the  dry-rot,  got  in  there,  eating  out  all 
the  solid  substance  of  life,  and  leaving  only  its  form  ?  " 
"  By  the   mass,   but  yo   done  know  how  to  ax 


12        TOM    KI-KTCIIKtl    TIIK    CAHKIKR    IS    OVKWTAKKW 

questions.      Why  yo  most  be  a  lawyer.      Hut  as    to 

th'  oiid  houses  and  th'  oud  trees,  there  they  are, 
sure  enough,  just  as  yo  left  'em.  Yo  were  there, 
didn  't  yo  Bay  ? " 

"  Thank  Clod  !"  said  the  stranger  ;  M  then  there  ia 
peace  in  one  place  on  the  earth.  Thank  God  !  I 
may  hope  then  for  some  tranquil  days  !  "  lie  sighed 
and  was  silent. 

Tom  Fletcher  grew  every  moment  more  full  of 
curiosity.  Who  could  this  be,  that  must  be  pretty 
much  of  his  own  age,  who  remembered  everything  so 
minutely,  and  yet  whom  he  could  not  for  the  life  of 
him  call  to  mind. 

"And  pray  what  then  may  yo 're  name  be?" 
asked  he. 

"  John  Fox." 

''John  Fox — Fox — then  of  a  sartin  yo  war  na 
barn  i'  Leniscar.  There 's  no  Foxes  there,  nor 
henna  been  i'  my  time." 

"  1  fancy  not,"  said  the  stranger  laconically. 

"And  th'  oud  folks  there?  What  o'  th'  oud 
folks  there  did  yo  know?" 

"  I  did  not  ask  after  any  old  folks  there,  my  friend." 

"No,  nor  young  uns  nother,  I  reckon,"  added 
Tom  again  rather  crustily. 

"Nor  young  ones  —but  as  you  have  asked  mc 
mine  1  will  take  the  liberty  to  ask  you  your  name. 
It  i3  only  right  that  we  who  are  travelling  on  to  the 
same  place,  and  may  become  neighbours,  should  be 
better  acquainted." 

"My  name,  if  that'll  do  yo  ony  good,  is  Tom 
Fletcher." 

"  Tom  Fletcher !  surely  not  the  Tom  Fletcher 
that  I  knew.  Tom  Fletcher,  the  great,  sturdy  lad 
that  went  to  herd  the  cattle  on  the  common ;  that 


HY    A    PEDESTRIAN    STRANGER.  15 

had  the  battle  with  the  great  gipsy  fellow  who 
would  drive  off  the  miller's  mare  on  pretence  that  it 
was  one  he  himself  had  lost,  and  beat  him  by  sud- 
denly drawing  a  great  wild-rose  shoot  with  thorns  as 
long  and  hooked  as  a  hawk's  beak  across  the  gipsy's 
nose  and  brow,  so  that  the  smart  and  the  gush  of 
blood  completely  disabled  him  till  Tom  had  time  to 
give  the  alarm — that  Tom  Fletcher  you  surely 
cannot  be  ! " 

"  Zounds,  Mester,  who  are  yo  I  say  again  ? — who 
are  yo  ?  I  should  know  yo,  for  yo  known  me. 
Tell  me  at  once,  for  tell  me  yo  shall  and  must." 

"  You  are  then  that  same  Tom  Fletcher  ?  "  said 
the  stranger  stepping  before  the  carrier.  "  You  are  ? 
No,  you  cannot  be.  Time  cannot  have  played  such 
tricks  with  us.  What  I — what  you,  Tom  Fletcher, 
this  weather-beaten,  stooping  old  man  ?  Tom,  the 
boy,  the  jolly  boy,  the  hardy,  the  warm-hearted 
Tom,  who  was  ready  to  be  the  champion  of  any  one 
who  was  weak  or  abused.  Tom,  who  ducked  the 
tailor  in  Shaw's  mill-dam  because  he  ill-used  his 
parish'  prentices?  Who  broke  open  the  pinfold 
many  a  night  because  the  pinder  did  not  give  fodder 
to  the  imprisoned  cattle?  Who  raised  a  ladder  to 
the  hall  window,  and  enabled  the  maid  who  was 
wrongfully  accused,  as  everybody  knew,  of  stealing 
the  squire's  spoons,  and  had  only  been  charged  with 
it  from  the  wicked  man's  private  resentment,  and 
enabled  her  to  escape,  and  marched  with  her  all  night 
to  her  own  place  of  abode  and  friends  ?  No,  this 
cannot  be  that  Tom  Fletcher  !  " 

"  It  is  no  other,  Mester,*  said  Tom  in  great 
astonishment ;  "  but  how  the  dickens  yo  can  remem- 
ber me  a'  those  years,  and  I  canna,  for  the  life  of  me, 
remember  yo,  that  beats  me  a'  to  snapdragons." 

o 


14  juii-\    i"\    IMTTLBt    iiniN.i.r 

"Giw  me  youi  hand]  Tom,"  said  the  stranger, 
giving  it  a  heart)  gripe.  "  Roagh  as  is  tin-  <-u 
which  time  and  Life's  .-tonus  hare  given  yon,  (here's 
a  warm  heart  beats  in  that  bosom,  or  nature  is  a 
( heat.  No,  nothing  could  wholly  change  that. 
Never  mind  if  you  cannot  remember  me,  th<  re  was 
nothing  particular  to  remember.  My  memory  has 
always  been  extraordinary,  and  besides,  a  Tom 
Fletcher  one  does  not  so  soon  forget.  Well,  here 
you  are  at  Ilighknoll,  you  will  have  to  May  some- 
time and  deliver  your  articles — I  shall  post  on.  I 
know  the  way.  1  Bhall  find  the  old  si^'ii  of  the  Cat 
and  Fiddle  still  hanging,  I  hope  ;  and  to-morrow  at 
church  we  ^liall  meet  again.     Good  night." 

With  this  the  stout  stranger  strode  forward,  hav- 
ing Tom  Fletcher  in  such  a  Btate  of  wonderment  a* 
he  had  not  experienced  for  yeai 


CHAPTER  II. 


JOHN    FOX   BETTLE9    HIMSELF    AT    J.KNISCAR. 

Wiikn  Tom  Fletcher  was  turning  out  of  his  cart 
the  hags  of  cotton  for  the  village  stocking-makers, 
which  he  had  then  and  there,  on  arriving  at  home,  to 
deliver  to  the  eager  expectants,  amongst  the  heavier 
articles  which  he  was  accustomed  to  leave  till  the 
Monday  morning,  he  spied  a  stout,  hlack  portmanteau 
which  he  had  never  seen  put  in.  It  was  so  common 
a  circumstance,  however,  for  articles  to  he  put  into 
his  cart  while  he  was  going  his  rounds  in  the  town, 
and  had  left  it  at  the  inn"  in  the  care  of  a  hoy  that 
he  paid  for  the  purpose,  that  this  would  not  at  all 
have  attracted  his  attention  in  itself.  But  the  kind 
of  article  was  so  very  different  to  what  he  was  accus* 


AT   LKN1SCAR.  15 

tomed  to  have  committed  to  his  care ;  was  so  sub- 
stantial, so  good,  so  fashionable — even  Tom  thought, 
it  was,  in  fact,  the  travelling  portmanteau  befitting  a 
gentleman  of  any  rank — that  he  wondered  no  little 
in  descrying  it.  "  What 's  that  ?"  said  he  to  himself 
aloud.  "  What  have  I  got  here  ?  That  must  be  for  the 
stranger  gentleman,  now,  I  warrant  me;"  andon  stoop- 
ing down  to  examine  its  address,  sure  enough  it  was  for 
"  Mr-  John  Fox,  at  the  Cat  and  Fiddle,  Lenisear." 

All  Tom's  curiosity  was  roused  ;  he  dragged  out 
the  large  black  portmanteau,  but  with  especial  care 
not  to  rub  or  injure  it  against  the  rough  tubs  and 
boxes  amongst  which  it  was  lodged.  The  poor  people 
who  stood  round  the  end  of  the  cart  like  a  swarm  of 
bees  around  the  entrance  to  the  hive,  each  eager  to 
seize  hold  of  his  bag  and  see  what  quantity  of  work 
the  hosier  had  sent  him  for  the  week,  although 
anxiously  bent  on  their  own  little  but  vital  interests, 
and  clamorous  to  have  their  accounts  looked  into, 
and  the  cash  paid  by  the  all-important  Tom,  having 
still  all  their  purchases  for  the  Sunday's  dinner,  &c, 
to  make,  yet  no  sooner  saw  this  unusual  object 
appear  at  the  opening  of  the  cart  than  they  were  all 
at  once  still.  "  What  have  you  got  there,  Thomas  ?" 
asked  a  dozen  voices  of  men  and  women  at  once. 

"  Why  now,  how  am  I  likely  to  tell  yo  when  I 
dunna  know  mysen?"  said  Tom. 

"  By  Guy  !  but  that  belongs  to  some  great  gen- 
tleman ;  that's  such  a  trunk  as  never  war  seen  i'  this 
village  before.  My  eye!  but  isn't  it  a  smart  one! 
And  what  a  weight  !"  said  they,  lifting  it  from  the 
ground,  where  Tom  had  set  it  to  contemplate  it. 
"  And  what  straps  round  it,  and  what  neat  work,  and 
what  a  handsome  plate!  and,  what's  that?  John 
Fox — ay.  John  Fox,  engraved  on  it.   And  see  on  this 


10  .Tuns     |n\    IKTTLE8    11 1. mm  l  I 

ticket  hanging  to  the  handle,  '  Mr.  John  Fox,  at  the 
Cat  and  Fiddle  !'  Oh,  the  gemieman's  at  the  Cat  and 
Fiddle!    Thomas,  who  is  it  ?    Who  is  it,  Thomas?'* 

"  II.iiw.l  yo'r  silly  tongues,"  cried  Tom,  ''that's 
more  than  I  know  mysen;  the  gentleman  asyo 
is  at  tli' Cat  ami   Fiddle,  and  ifyowanten  to  know 
yo  can  go  ami  axe  there."     With  that    Tom  lifted 
the  portmanteau  from   the  ground,  and   bearing  it 
away  from  the  midst  of  the  inquisitive  throng  whoso 
heads  weir  all  meeting  over  it,  deposited  it  carefully 
in  a  corner  of  his  house,  and  refusing  to  answer  one 
of  the    thousand  questions  still    put    to    him,    hegan 
busily  opening  his   money  bag,  and   From  a  roll  of 
papers  began  to  hand  out  to  each  person  the  money 
that  belonged  to  him.  This  had  the  most  decided  effect ; 
all  thoughts  were  instantly  turned  from   the  Btrangei 
to  mote  closely-touching  concerns,  and  Tom  Fletcher 
speedily  dismissed  his  crowd  and  turned  to  his  supper, 
that   stood    ready    prepared    for  him    by   his    pretty 
niece.     Here,  however,  the  black  portmanteau  again 
fell  directly  under  his  eye,  and   lie  found  a  crowd  of 
questions  rising  on  his  own  mind  as  num<  rous  and  as 
busy  as  those  of  his  neighhourshad  been.   The  eyes  of 
the  niece  followed  his,  and  no  doubt  she  would  have 
given  a  trifle  to  know  something  about  the  stranger 
gentleman  ton,  but  she  was  too  well  acquainted  with 
hex  uncle's  humour  to  utter  a  Bingle   remark.     She 
only  took  care  to  help  the  hungry  man  to  his  steak, 
set  the  tankard  of  cool  ale  just  before  him,  and  had 
his  pipe  ready  to  hand  to  him  when  he  had  finished. 
Over  this  Tom  pondered  a  good  while,  endeavouring 
to  fish  up  out  of  the  regions  of  his  youthful  memory 
some  John  Fox,  hut  in  vain.      lie  nodded,  snatched 
up  his  candle,  and  went  to  bed. 

Weary  as  he  was,  and  accustomed  to  indulge  him- 


AT    LKNISCIR.  17 

self  in  an  extra  hour  or  two  of  sleep  on  a  Sunday 
morning,  yet  Tom  Fletcher  was  up,  had  his  break- 
fast, fed  and  cleaned  out  his  horse,  and  turned  out 
his  three  cows  that  his  niece  had  milked,  and  at  nine 
o'clock  was  seen  carrying  the  black  portmanteau 
down  to  the  Cat  and  Fiddle.  Here  he  expected  to 
find  the  mysterious  John  Fox  at  his  breakfast  in  the 
parlour,  and  hoped  by  further  talk  to  come  at  some- 
thing more  tangible.  To  his  disappointment,  how- 
ever, he  learned  that  the  gentleman  had  had  his 
breakfast  in  his  chamber,  but  ordered  his  portman- 
teau to  be  sent  up  to  him,  and  then  that  nobody 
should  disturb  him  till  dinner  time,  having  first 
inquired  and  found  that  the  service  at  the  church  was 
not  till  the  afternoon,  the  single  service  in  the  village 
alternating  each  week  from  morning  to  afternoon, 
the  clergyman  baving  to  preach  also  at  a  neighbour- 
ing village.  This  was  rather  a  trying  fact  to  Tom, 
and  as  tbe  landlord  and  landlady,  and  half  a  dozen  of 
the  villagers,  who  had  already  assembled  there  to 
learn  something  about  this  important  personage,  for 
rare  indeed  was  the  arrival  of  any  guest  at  that  out- 
of-the- world  hamlet,  were  equally  curious  with  Tom, 
they  put  the  ale  cup  before  him,  and  the  sun  stream- 
ing into  the  familiar  old  room  of  the  Cat  and  Fiddle 
in  a  way  to  warm  and  call  forth  the  closest  thoughts 
from  the  most  iron  breast,  the  whole  group  were 
soon  in  full  discourse  about  the  stranger,  and  soon  had 
learned  all  that  Tom  knew. 

There  is  seldom  an  event  in  nature,  or  in  life,  that 
the  clever  men  of  this  age  cannot  clear  up.  Does 
a  meteor  appear  in  the  sky,  or  a  strange  kind  of 
weather  come,  we  have  all  the  causes  of  these  pheno- 
mena laid  by  our  philosophers  as  clearly  before  us, 
as  if  they  had   been  at  the    ordering  of  the  thing 

o2 


18  JOHN  FOX  SKTTI.I  I  HIMSELF 

Docs  a  kin:,' or  ;i  ministry  take  sonic  singular  step, 
it  was  all  Foreseen  by  certain  people,  though  they 
had  kepj  their  thoughts  to  thein*  Ives,  lest  tln-y 
should  be  thought  rash;  l>nt  they  tan  tell  you  what 
will  be  tli"  consequences  ef  the  step.  The  cense* 
quenoes  turn  out  to  l»e  quite  different ;  but,  then, 
they  can  directly  tell  you  why  this  is  so.  and  must  be  so 
—  they  had  only  overlooked  some  one  little  particular. 
Relate  to  any  of  the  clever  nun  of  our  very  enlight- 
ened day,  anything  which  you  have  heard  that 
astonishes  you,  and  they  will  immediately  Bhow  you 
that  there  IS  no  cause  of  astonishment  at  all  —  it  could 
not  he  otherwise.  Find  out  the  next  day  that  you 
were  wrong  informed,  and  that  the  facts  were  so  and 
so,  ami  your  clever  man  will  explain  that  also,  and 
show  that  it  must  equally  he  so.  There  is  nothing 
now  which  our  clever  men  cannot  irrefragably  prove, 
that  a  thing  is  hlack  to-day  —  that  it  is  white 
to-morrow,  and  green  the  next — you  only  omitted 
Borne  influencing  cause  in  your  statement  ;  your 
premises  might  he  wrong,  hut  their  reasoning  is 
always  right.  How  many  political  measures  could 
we  refer  to  that  were  pronounced  as  pregnant  with 
national  destruction  if  carried,  which  being  carried, 
and  no  destruction  ensuing,  these  very  same  croakers 
have  been  the  first  to  prove  that  this  must  be 
so.  Their  reasonings  were  right,  hut  sum.-  fact  or 
facts  had  been  carefully  concealed  from  them,  <>!  it  is 
a  most  comfortable  age,  where  statements  may  be 
wrong,  hut  every  body  is  right ;  and  the  clever 
people  always  can  account  for  every  thing  ! 

Unfortunately  for  Leniscar,  the  philosophy  of  the 
age  had  not  yet  made  its  entrance  there  ;  and  accord- 
ingly our  group  at  the  Cat  and  Fiddle,  having  heard 
Toin  Fletcher's  story  of  what  had  passed  with  the 


AT    LENISCAR.  1© 

stranger,  were  in  a  most  pitiable  condition.  Every 
body  asked,  "  Who  could  this  Mr.  Fox  be  ?  "  No- 
body could  answer  it.  "  It  must  be  a  thin,  whipper- 
snapper  youth  that  used  to  come  and  take  in  stock- 
ings for  the  hosiers  at  Nottingham  !  "  said  one. 

"  Slim,  whipper-snapper  youth  !  "  cried  f  om  ; 
"  art  thou  a  slim  youth  ?  I  tell  thee,  he  's  as  burly 
as  the  old  tower  at  Coldnor  Castle  !  " 

"  It  must  be  a  young  lawyer's  clerk  that  used  to 
come  about  the  rents  of  Lord  Ormond."  Then  it 
was  an  auctioneer's  clerk — then  a  grocer's  apprentice 
that  took  orders — then  it  was  a  relation  of  this  or 
the  other  family  !  "  Fox  !  Fox  1  who  here  was  ever 
married  to  a  Fox  ?  Foxes  in  the  parish  there  were 
none,  and  never  had  been  in  the  memory  of  man." 

It  was  all  in  vain,  not  a  thread  of  probability,  much 
less  a  whole  clue,  could  be  got  hold  of;  and  yet  the 
gentleman  had  an  old  attachment  to  the  place ;  he 
thought  of  ending  his  days  there  !  Before  church- 
time  in  the  afternoon  there  was  not  a  house  in  which 
this  great  topic  and  mystery  had  not  been  warmly 
discussed ;  and  to  such  a  height  had  the  fever  of 
curiosity  risen,  that,  on  the  clergyman's  entering  the 
church,  he  was  perfectly  astonished — he  had  never 
seen  such  an  attendance  before  !  Whilst  he  was  in 
the  midst  of  his  wonder,  in  walked  the  stranger,  and 
the  universal  stir  which  his  entrance  occasioned,  and 
the  turning  of  all  heads,  and  the  following  of  all 
eyes,  as  he  composedly  walked  up  the  centre  aisle, 
convinced  the  clergyman  that  this  unknown  person  had 
something  to  do  with  this  unusual  flocking  to  church. 

In  any  tolerably  populous  place,  Mr.  John  Fox 
would  not  have  presented  any  appearance  sufficiently 
marked  to  attract  unusual  attention.  He  was  a 
6tout  and  grave-looking  man,  apparently  of  some* 


20  John-   vox  UfTUM  BDUIU 

thing  more  than  sixty.  His  strong  broad  figure  wU 
arrayed  in  an  olive-green  ample  frock-ooat,  well 
battened   up,  a   pair  of  ample  grey    i.  .   and 

buckles  aa  ample  on  bis  stent  well-made  shoes.     His 
bead  and  face  were  of  the  same  full  and  solid  charac- 
ter as  h  -  person.     His  hair  was  strong  and  gray, 
and,  as  were  also  his  whiskers,  which  were  white, 
was  cut  short.     His  countenance   was  of  a  deep 
ruddy  hue,  with  large  gray  eyes  and  bushy 
brows.     His  nose  was  of  the  strong,  round,  Oliver 
Cromwell  Btamp,  and  there  was  a  massy  solidity  about 
the  lower  parts  of  the  face,  and  a  firmness  about  the 
mouth,  that  proclaimed  a  grave,  clear-headed,  deter- 
mined character.     In   bis  hit    hand   he  carried  a 
broadish  brimmed  hat,  and  in  his  right  a  stick  of  a 
very  remarkable  character,  which,  as  it  did  not  fail 
to  astonish  on  this  brief  view,  before  its  posa 
was  hidden,  all  hut  his  head,  in  the  pew  to  which  he 
directed   his  steps,  and  afterwards  was  a  subject  of 
much  wonder  and  speculation,  1  may  as  well  more 
particularly  describe. 

It  was,  in  the  first  place,  like  its  master,  of  a  very 
solid  and  substantial  character,  and  as  he  set  it  down 
with  a  certain  deeided  energy  as  he  marched  up  the 
aisle,  it  sounded  on  the  stone  pavement,  and  clinked 
on  the  hi>iss  of  a  monumental  inscription,  over  which 
he  passed,  with  such  a  noticeable  vigour,  as  attracted 
all  eyes  to  it.  All  eyes  then  saw  that  it  was  of  a 
dark  yellowish  hue,  or,  in  reality,  a  genuine  fox- 
colour;  and  as  he  afterwards  held  the  head  of  it  up 
to  his  nose,  that  it  had  actually  a  fox's  head,  most 
admirably  and  naturally  carve.}.  Besides  this,  it 
was  discernible  that  the  whole  stick  was  marked 
all  over  with  figures,  which  later  and  closer  inspection 
I  roved  to  be  on  ^ne  side  a  most  elaborate  design  of 


AT    LENISCAH.  21 

Solomon's  Temple,  and  the  signs  of  the  zodiac, 
stretching  from  the  fox's  head  to  the  iron-shod  end  ; 
on  the  other  was  an  equally  elaborate  procession  of 
the  beasts  to  the  ark  of  Noah,  which,  first  of  ships,  was 
carved  out  as  an  exact  counterpart  of  the  Temple. 
All  this  tracery,  which  was  in  fact  most  beautifully 
and  artistically  executed,  and  was  indeed  the  labour 
of  Mr.  John  Fox  himself,  in  many  a  leisure  hour, 
did  not  fail  to  evcite  the  deepest  admiration  and 
wonder  in  the  minds  of  those  simple  villagers.  The 
myjterious  figures  were  soon  set  down  to  be  astrolo- 
gical, and  to  enable  the  possessor  on  the  spot,  and  at 
any  hour,  to  find  out  and  to  foretell  anything. 
Solomon,  all  the  world  over,  is  believed  to  have  known 
everything  ;  in  the  East,  he  has  always  been  held  to 
he  the  prince  of  magicians — in  the  West,  to  be 
master  of  all  knowledge  under  the  sun  ;  and  then  the 
beasts  of  old  Noah,  it  was  clear  enough  that  this 
grave  stranger  knew  more  than  an  almanack,  if, 
indeed,  he  were  not  the  almanack-maker.  Every 
body  surveyed  him  with  deep  awe. 

This  feeling  of  his  strange  and  superior  knowledge 
was  not  a  little  increased  by  the  very  fact  of  his 
walking  leisurely  into  the  very  pew  that  he  did.  It 
was  evident  that  he  knew  the  way  to  the  pew 
before  he  came  into  the  church.  He  never  looked  to 
right  or  left,  but  walked  sedately  on  to  it,  as  if  it 
had  been  his  own ;  and  that  pew  was  in  fact  that  of 
a  family  lately  extinct  in  the  place,  and  having  just 
now  no  proper  occupants.  It  was  evident  that  the 
stranger  knew  it.  Nay,  he  put  his  hand  to  the 
button  inside  which  held  the  door  fast,  just  as  if  he 
had  always  known  the  pew,  seated  himself  so  as  to 
have  at  once  the  best  view  of  the  congregation  and 
the  clergyman,  and  all  that  in  a  moment,  and  with- 


22  joiin  rox  km  i  LEI   HUtsl  Lf 

out  having  to  make  a  single  change.  Mr  drew  B 
very  handsome  but  well-worn  prayer-book  from  hia 
pocket,  and  became  deeply  attentive  to  the  service. 

There  was  ,„,  family  Gf  [jrcal  worldly  account  in 
thia   little   hamlet;    merely  farmers,   cottagers  and 
labourers.      When  the  service   was  over  Mr.  Vox 
advanced    to   the  clergyman   and   converged  a  few 
minuted  witli  him,  then  quitted  the  church,  making 
arespectful  bow  to  the  people  who  were  standing 
about  the  door,  and  giving  Tom  Fletcher  a  familiar 
Bhake  of  the   band,    walked   away   with   him  and 
Michael  Shaw  the  miller,  or  aa  he  was  naually  called 
in  the  dialectical  familiarity  of  the  place,  Mick  Shay. 
Elaving,  however,  told  Tom  that  he  should  call  on 
him  in  the  morning  to  have  a  little  conversation  with 
him,  he  bade  .Mick  and  him  good  bye  at  the  church- 
yard gate,  and  took  a  solitary  foot-path  down  the  side 
of  a  wood  into  the  valley  below  the  village. 

'I  hat  afternoon  and  evening  various  were  the 
fanners,  looking  over  their  lands,  and  loving  couples 
pursuing  retired  walks,  or  seated  on  old  Btiles,  who 
encountered  the  Btranger.  He  was  now  seen  standing 
at  the  head  of  .Mick  Shay's  mill-dam,  which  was  a 
sheet  of  water  really  large  enough  to  have  been 
honoured  with  the  name  of  lake,  covering  perhaps 
not  less  than  fifty  acres,  and  lying  between  D]  'and 
slopes,  varied  with  green  enclosures,  and  woods 
charming  enough,  in  a  more  known  part  of  the 
country,  to  have  made  the  whole  scene  admired  for 
its  beauty.  There  he  was  looking  down  where  its 
waters  shoot  over  the  sluice  and  down  on  a  flight  of 
rude  steps  into  the  valley  below,  funning  in  truth  a 
very  fair  cascade.  Others  saw  him  following  solitarih 
the  curves  of  the  brook  which  this  water  formed 
down  this    valley,   and   which    winded   about,    now 


AT    LENISCAIt.  23 

beneath  tall  trees,  and  now  through  the  greenest 
meadows,  in  true  sylvan  loveliness.  Others  again 
saw  him  standing  on  the  steps  of  Mick  Shay's 
wind-mill,  on  the  hill  near,  for  this  worthy  miller 
had  two  strings  to  the  bow  of  his  trade,  and  ground 
with  both  wind  and  water;  and  from  the  airy 
height  of  the  said  wind-mill  steps,  overlooking  the 
wide  vale  below,  which  for  miles  spread  itself  out 
in  most  peaceful  and  rich  beauty.  By  others 
again  he  was  met  in  a  distant  and  deep  wood.  Of 
several  persons,  when  they  came  up  to  him,  or  he  to 
them,  he  had  asked  who  still  lived  in  this  farm-house 
and  that  cottage,  and  had  merely  remarked,  "  O, 
indeed  !  such  a  family,  I  believe,  once  lived  there." 
In  every  case  he  was  right.  The  man  must  certainly 
once  have  known  this  neighbourhood  well — who 
could  he  be  ?  This,  however,  was  a  question  which 
was  not  likely  to  be  soon  answered.  In  consequence 
of  his  interview  the  next  morning  with  Tom  Fletcher, 
he  was  conducted  by  him  to  an  old  cottage  near  his 
own,  inhabited  by  its  proprietors,  Gabriel  and  Becky 
Thorpe.  These  were  two  old  but  hale  people  with- 
out children,  who  living  on  their  own  little  patrimony, 
bad  passed  through  life  as  through  a  quiet  dream — 
their  cow,  their  orchard,  and  garden,  and  their  littlo 
bit  of  land  below,  reaching  in  fact  to  the  margin  of 
Leniscar  dam — Mick  Shay's  mill-dam,  having  found 
them  at  once  just  enough  labour  and  support.  Here 
John  Fox  was  installed  to  his  heart's  content  in  the 
parlour  and  one  chamber  of  this  old  cottage,  which 
lay  in  the  midst  of  its  old  garden,  and  surrounded  by 
a  perfect  sea  of  great  old  fruit-trees.  In  this  cottage 
and  its  garden,  orchard  and  croft,  John  Fox  seemed 
perfectly  to  luxuriate  in  a  quiet  delight.  They  were 
still,  secluded,  and  old-fashioned  enough,  in  all  con- 


^4  JOHN    I'ov    SETTLES    iiimskLP 

science.  The  parlour  was  lofty  enough  not  to 
require  him  to  stoop,  and  that  was  all.  It  had  two 
casement  windows  looking  out  into  two  parts  of  that 
sunny  garden.  In  those  window-,  stood  pots  of  balm 
ofGilead,  balsams,  and  myrtles.  There  was  a  squab  ox 
wooden  sofa  in  the  room  set  against  the  wall  near  the 
fire-place,  which  having  <>n  it  a  well-stuffed  cushion 
and  pillow  se<  med  t<>  invite  to  many  a  pleasant  after- 
dinner  doze.  There  was  a  dark  old  walnut  sloping 
desk  by  one  wall,  with  a  bookcase  upon  it,  in  which 
Becky  Thorpe  had  stowed  out  of  tie  way  not  only 
her  great  green  baize-covered  Bible  and  her  few  other 
good  hooks,  but  also  her  best  tea-things,  and  her  best 
tea  and  BUgar.  These  were  conveyed  speedily  to 
some  other  place  of  deposit,  and  John  Vox  was  put 
into  possession  of  all  the  mysterious  little  drawers 
and  slidts,  and  secret  places  of  this  desk.  A  huge 
chest  full  of  hooks  and  other  matters  arrived  by  Tom 
Fletcher's  cart  on  the  following  Saturday,  and  the 
bookcase  was  soon  filled  with  books,  such  a  set  of 
handsomely  bound  books  as  never  were  seen  in  that 
cottage  before,  and  all  the  interior  of  that  desk  with 
parchment  i  and  papers  that  seemed  of  a  most 
momentous  and  of  man-of-property-like  character. 
Becky  Thorpe  soon  remarked  that  never  for  a 
moment  did  Mr.  Pox  leave  the  key  either  in  the 
door  of  the  desk  or  book-case  when  he  was  out,  never 
once  did  he  even  lay  one  of  his  books  about.  A  most 
particular  man  he  is,  said  she,  exact  to  a  hair  about 
every  tiling,  and  very  solemn, and  sometimes  of  an  awful 
frame  of  mind,  though  still  very  pleasant,  and  what 
pleased  her  ami  her  Gabriel  especially,  very  religious. 
"  One  can  sec  plainly,"  Becky  Thorpe  would  say 
to  her  neighbours,  ll  that  he  lias  bad  bis  trials  and 
his  experiences  in  this  life,  though  he  is  not  a  man 


AT    LENISCAR.  25 

that  lets  you  see  far  into  his  affairs,  nor  into  his 
thoughts,  excepting  when  he  pleases.  He  reads  a 
chapter  in  the  Bible  every  morning  after  breakfast, 
and  reads  prayers  every  night  before  he  goes  to  bed, 
and  he  has  Gabriel  and  me  to  go  in  and  hear  him, 
which  is  a  comfort  to  us.  And  my  !  how  he  can  read. 
It's  really  more  solemn  and  affecting  than  our 
parson's  reading  i'  th'  pulpit.  And  lie  will  often 
come  and  sit  with  us  of  an  evening,  and  talk  with  us 
about  our  past  life  and  experience,  and  it 's  quite  a 
privilege  to  hear  how  he  does  talk.  Oh,  he  is  very 
book-larned,  and  has  such  a  sweet  spirit  o'  religion 
as  warms  my  old  heart  but  to  listen  to  his  words." 

But  before  we  go  farther  into  Becky's  account  of 
John  Fox,  we  will  give  some  farther  account  of  his 
dwelling.  He  had  soon  not  only  his  books  and 
papers,  but  Tom  Fletcher  had  to  convey  from 
Nottingham  carpets  and  hearthrugs  which  he  had 
purchased  for  both  parlour  and  bed-room,  and  not 
only  that  but  a  nice  carpet  also  for  those  old  stairs  up  to 
his  room.  Some  hundreds  of  years  had  that  old  house 
stood,  but  such  a  thing  as  a  bit  of  carpet  in  it  there 
had  never  been  before.  "  Oh,  he  has  been  used,  one 
can  see,"  said  Becky,  "  to  grand  houses  and  grand 
ways.  I  and  my  oud  man  we  are  a' most  afeard  of 
going  up  and  down  stairs,  and  I  've  bought  Gabriel  a 
pair  of  listing  slippers  to  slip  over  his  shoes  when  he 
goes  up  stairs." 

And  really  those  little  low  rooms,  with  their  neat 
carpets  and  clean  casements,  with  their  snowy-white 
curtains  and  their  flower  pots  within,  and  the  honey- 
suckles, and  rosemary,  and  blossoming  apricot  boughs 
all  about  them  without,  were  very  charming.  And  that 
rustic  bed  with  its  curtains  of  blue  and  white  huge 
check,  its  variegated  patch-work  quilt,  and  its  fair 

D 


26  JOHN  FOX  SETTLES  HIMSELF 

sheets,  was  attractive  enough  looking  to  make  the  old 
gentleman  Intake  himself  to  bed  at  the  early  boor  of 
nine,  as  he  often  did.     Nor  was  the  garden  less 

alluring.      This  was  a  longish  square  enclosure,    sur- 

rounded  by  tall  hedges  of  lilacs,  many  of  them  of  the 

old  white  lilac  kind  that  shout  up  almost  into  tree*, 
and  they  were  here  and  there  intermingled  with 
syringas,  proi'iising  in  the  course  of  a  few  weeks  to 
hurst  out  into  whole  oceans  of  beauty  and  fragmnde. 
At  the  bottom  was  a  rustic  arbour  where  John  Fox 
used  to  take  his  pipe  and  his  book,  and  enjoy  tln> 
hum  of  the  liees  which  were  busily  living  in  and  out 
of  a  row  of  hives  near.  Below  the  garden,  the  old 
orchard  extended  its  shade  of  ancient  trees,  and 
beyond  that  the  green  croft  with  tall  hedges  of  haw- 
thorn on  each  si  le  extended  down  to  the  mill-dam. 

As  the  time  went  on,  and  the  lilacs  and  apple 
trees  put  out  their  young; leaves  and  their  delicious 
blossoms,  the  old  gentleman  seemed  never  wearied  of 
traversing  to  and  fro  in  these  rural  enclosures. 
There  was  not  an  old-fashioned  flower  or  plant  that 
he  did  not  seem  to  contemplate  with  delight  as  an 
old  acquaintance.  The  very  stone-crop  on  the  wall, 
the  great  spurge,  the  blue  monk's  hood,  the  com- 
monest polyanthus,  all  filled  him  with  pleasure.  He 
was  soon  acquainted  with  some  famous  old  fiori>ts 
in  neighbouring  villages,  and  had  purchased  from 
them  such  a  stock  of  auriculas,  polyanthuses,  ranun- 
culuses, tulips,  &C,  as  occupied  almost  a  fourth  of 
Gabriel  Thorpe's  garden,  which  was  given  up  for  the 
purpose.  These  were  conveyed  here  in  their  pots, 
or  were  taken  up  out  of  their  beds  with  all  their  soil 
about  them,  so  that  they  were  never  affected  by  the 
removal  ;  and  early  in  the  morning  and  late  at  night 
was  Mr.  Fox  busy  at  work  with  his  mats  and  his 


AT    LENISCAR.  27 

sticks  and  his  watering-pot,  shading  his  precious 
charge  from  east  winds,  tying  them  up,  and  water- 
ing them  with  a  gusto  that  was  itself  intense 
happiness.  The  village  joiners  were  soon  carrying 
in  frames,  the  glazier  following  with  the  glazed  covers 
and  with  hand-glasses,  &c,  and  soon  were  seen,  drop- 
ping in  of  a  fine  evening,  one  or  more  of  the  old 
florists  to  see  their  brother  amateur  and  the  flowers 
they  had  sold  him. 

It  would  have  done  anybody  good  to  have  seen 
these  remarkable  old  village  patriarchs,  in  their  quiet 
way,  walking  about  the  flower-beds,  and  making 
their  comments  on  the  different  plants.  They  were 
men  who  never,  perhaps,  had  been  twenty  miles  in 
their  whole  lives  from  their  own  homes,  yet  who  had 
sent  out  flowers  which  yet  maintained  all  over  the 
kingdom  the  name  and  the  fame  which  they  gave 
them.  In  this  tranquil  and  beautiful  pursuit  they 
had  spent  long  and  happy  lives,  and  the  very  sunny 
stillness  and  repose  of  gardens  seemed  to  be  in  their 
spirits.  John  Fox  displayed  a  more  active  enthu- 
siasm, in  accordance  with  his  energetic  character,  and 
was  never  weary  of  lifting  his  glasses,  taking  down 
his  mats,  and  pointing  out  the  advancing  promises  of 
plants,  which  in  the  coming  months  were  to  put  forth 
all  their  glories. 

The  lake  did  not  seem  less  affluent  of  pleasures  for 
him.  Mick  Shay  had  offered  him  his  boat  for  use 
whenever  he  wanted  it,  and  it  was  a  trait  of  delicate 
kindness  that  would  have  done  honour  to  a  man  of 
far  higher  education  and  experience  than  Mick,  that 
the  very  next  day  after  making  the  offer,  John  Fox, 
on  strolling  down  to  the  bottom  of  the  meadow, 
found  the  boat  swinging  at  the  steps  of  a  little  land- 
ing-place, and  fastened  to  a  tree.      Here  it  continued 


28  JOHN    IdX    SETTLES    RIKBELV 

daily  to  remain  during  the  whole  rammer,  excepting 
when  Mick  wanted  it  occasionally  a  few  honra  for 
himself.  John  Fox  appeared  to  be  a  zealous  fisher- 
man, both  with  rod  and  net  ;  he  traversed  in  the  boat 
every  creek  and  winding  of  this  fine  piece  of  water, 
sometimes  alone,  lying  for  hours  under  the  shade  of 
some  .great  overhanging  tree,  and  reading,  whilst  lie 
cast  an  occasional  glance  at  his  tackle;  sum. times 
with  Mick,  who  had  a  particular  faculty  of  dropping 
his  cast-net  over  the  great  basking  pikes  of  the  pond, 
or  of  lifting  them  out  with  a  noose  :  sometimes 
also  Gabriel  Thorpe  accompanied  the  old  gentleman 
to  act  as  rower,  but  he  told  Becky  that  for  a  keen 
fisherman,  as  Mr.  Fox  was,  it  was  very  odd  sometimes 
to  see  how  he  would  forget  what  he  was  about,  and 
would  let  a  great  fish  lug  and  drag  at  his  line  till  it 
almost  pulled  his  rod  out  of  his  hand,  whilst  he  seemed 
sunk  in  a  brown  study.  "  Nay,"  said  he,  t- I  have 
fairly  seen  the  fish  so  eager  to  hite  that  they  have 
jumped  up  two  or  three  at  a  time  at  his  fly  till  they 
have  actually  knocked  their  noses  together,  and  yet 
he  has  never  seen  them."  Then  again,  according  to 
Gabriel,  he  would  start  up  and  begin  fishing  in  des- 
perate earnest,  and  would  have  him  push  on  the  boat 
now  hither  and  thither,  now  under  this  hank,  and  now 
under  the  other,  till  as  quickly  getting  tired  he  would 
put  the  rod  into  Gabriel's  hand  and  begin  to  read. 

In  one  of  these  fishings,  however,  Gabriel  made  a 
mistake  that  caused  Mr.  Fox  to  omit  taking  him  for 
B  long  time  afterwards.  John  Fox  was  sunk  into  one 
of  his  thoughtful  moods  one  fine  sunny  afternoon, 
when  he  suddenly  heard  Gabriel,  who  was  in  the  boat, 
say,  "  Nicholas  Flamstead  \  Why  that  's  the  ('lock- 
maker  !  " 

John  Fox  started  from  his  reverie,  darted  a  keen 


AT    LEN1SCAB.  29 

and  astonished  glance  at  Gabriel,  and  saw  him  looking 
at  tile  fly-leaf  of  the  volume,  which  he  had  laid  down 
in  the  boat,  and  gazing  on  the  name  written  there, 
which  had  occasioned  this  sudden  query  and  exclama- 
tion. A  deeper  colour,  a  solemn  and  a  severe  expres- 
sion passed  over  the  features  of  John  Fox,  as  he  took 
hold  of  Gabriel's  shoulder,  and  said,  "  Gabriel,  what 
are  you  doing?  That  was  the  name  and  that  was 
the  book  of  a  once  dear  friend  of  mine.  You  know 
not  what  a  shock  you  have  sent  through  me  by  the 
sudden  utterance  of  his  name.  Promise  me  solemnly 
that  as  long  as  I  remain  in  your  house,  you  never  pro 
nounce  it  again,  or  look  into  book  or  paper  of  mine." 

Gabriel  closed  the  volume  in  haste,  for  he  was  of 
a  very  placid,  shrinking  nature — begged  a  thousand 
pardons,  and  was  glad  when  he  could  escape  out  of 
the  boat — where  Mr.  Fox  continued  for  some  time  to 
fish  with  a  grave  earnestness,  but  without  uttering 
another  sound.  Deep  were  the  cogitations  of  Gabriel 
and  Becky,  however,  when  he  reached  home,  on  this 
incident,  for  they  knew  something  of  the  Clock- 
maker's  history,  and  were  extremely  anxious  to  know 
more.  But  they  did  not  dare  to  put  any  single  query 
to  their  inmate  on  the  subject.  He  himself,  how- 
ever, one  evening  introduced  the  topic,  said,  of  course 
they  knew  much  of  his  early  friend's  history ;  what 
happy  days  they  had  spent  together  at  the  native 
village  of  the  Clockmaker,  not  far  off. 

Then  did  Becky  venture  to  say,  "  Oh,  dear  sir, 
can  you  tell  us  what  is  become  of  him  ?  What 
would  not  some  in  this  country  give  to  know  S" 

"  1  know  it,  I  know  it,  Mrs  Thorpe,"  returned 
John  Fox,  while  a  very  sad  expression  settled  on  hia 
features ;  "  many  and  earnest,  as  you  are  aware, 
have  been  the  inquiries  made  after  him,  but  no  one, 

d2 


30  DOUBLE   I.KJHTS  aim:   thrown  across 

I  believe,  has  yet  been  able  to  trace  him  further  tlian 
the  Cape  of  Good  Hope." 

The  farther  particular!  which  followed  in  conversa- 
tion, we  shall  Boon  have  to  detail  in  the  count  -Tour 

narrative  ;   we  will,  therefore,  take  another  i 

previous  riew  of  our  friend  John  Fox,  in  the  com- 
pany of  his  two  frequent  associates,  Tom  Fletcher 
and  Mick  Shay. 


CHAPTER  III. 


DorBr.F,  lights  are  thrown  .\<  an--  JOHN  fox. 

Two  months  had  now  rolled  on  since  the  arrival 
of  John  Fox  in  Leniflcar.  He  had  fished,  and  had 
seen  his  flowers  come  out  with  great  delight.     He 

was  found  to  be  a  great  walker,  and  would  set  off  and 
stroll  far  and  wide  through  the  neighbouring  country 
and  hamlets,  returning  only  to  his  supper.  The 
mystery  which  hung  around  him  was  no!  one  whit 
dispersed.  The  ideas  of  his  wealth  and  importance 
were  much  heightened.  He  had  letters  directed  to 
him  from  London,  with  great  seals,  and  e 
"John  Fox,  Esquire."  It  was  known  that  he  had 
been  a  friend  of  the  Clock-maker's,  whose  mysterious 
history  had  excited  a  deep  interest  in  this  part  of  the 
country,  but  no  one  could  draw  from  him  a  single 
syllable  more  than  what  he  had  voluntarily  uttered 
to  Gabriel  and  Becky  Thorpe.  He  had  a  serious 
and  dignified  manner,  that  inspired  the  deepest 
respect  in  the  minds  of  the  villagers,  and  the  more 
so,  as  since  his  arrival,  there  was  no  case  of  distress 
or  of  illness  which  Mick  Shay  or  the  village  doctor 
was  not  commissioned  to  relieve,  from  a  source  that 
they  never  mentioned,  but  which  no  one  hesitated  to 


JOHN     POX.  31 

set  down  as  Mr.  Fox.  As  he  passed  the  very  chil- 
dren by  the  road-side  or  on  the  green,  he  filled  them 
with  a  nameless  awe  by  the  serious  look  with  which 
he  regarded  them,  and  yet,  out  of  his  capacious  coat- 
pockets  they  would  very  often  find  nuts,  gingerbread, 
and  some  half-pence  suddenly  flung  amongst  the 
marbles  that  they  were  playing  with,  which  occa- 
sioned  a  busy  scramble,  to  which,  however,  the 
stmge  man  never  gave  the  slightest  attention,  but 
was  gone  on,  striding  solemnly  away  with  his  fox- 
stick  in  his  hand.  Nay,  on  one  occasion  he  had 
sorely  frightened  a  little  girl,  who,  with  a  heavy 
basket,  in  her  hurry  to  get  over  a  stile  to  which  he 
was  approaching,  had  left  a  piece  of  mud  from  her 
shoe  on  the  top  rail.  "  Now,  my  little  maiden,"  said 
John  Fox,  gravely  pointing  with  his  awful  hierogly- 
phic stick  to  the  mud,  "  can  you  tell  me  how  I  am 
to  get  over  here  without  dirtying  my  trousers  ?" 

The  little  girl,  in  her  fright  at  being  thus  addressed 
by  so  great  a  gentleman,  clapped  down  her  basket  in 
precipitation,  and  was  about  to  wipe  away  the  mud 
witli  the  little  shawl  which  she  had  on  her  shoulders. 
"  Nay,"  said  John  Fox,  laying  hold  on  her,  "  for 
that  your  mother  would  scold  you.  We  can  do  better 
than  that."  So  saying,  he  took  his  own  pocket- 
handkerchief,  wiped  off  the  mud,  and  rolling  up  the 
handkerchief  said,  "  There,  I  think  you  will  mind 
better  in  future."  The  little  girl,  half  out  of  her 
wits,  and  with  tears  in  her  eyes,  dropped  a  low 
curtsey,  and  said  "  Yes,  sir." — "  I  believe  you,  my 
pretty  little  maid — «o  give  that  handkerchief  to  your 
mother  ;  she  can  have  it  for  the  washing." 

The  little  damsel  hurried  home  with  her  load  to 
relate  her  adventure,  and  when  the  mother  unfolded 
the    handkerchief,   out    dropped    a    guinea !      Th* 


32  DOUBLE    LI6UTI     \  li  K   T*BOWH    ACROSS 

mother  hurried  m>  i'.i~t  a*  the  child  had  hurried 
home,  to  Mr.  Fox  with  the  money.  "Well." 
the  old  gentleman,  "  i:  ia  an  old  saying,  'Where 
there  is  mud  there  i-  money' — and  bo  it  i~.  von  Bee  ; 
probably  it  Bta  k  in  tin-  mud — it  is  none  of  mine  ;  if 
you  <lo  not  like  it,  give  it  to  the  child." 

The  place  where  John  Fox  was  generally  to  l;c 
found  iii  an  evening  was  Tom  Fletcher*,  it  was 
but  afew  steps  from  his  own  abode,  and  there  was 
sine  to  be  found  also  Mick  Shay.  These  were  t ho 
two  people  whose  conversation  he  seemed  still  most 
to  affect.  Alter  his  almost  daily  rambles,  he  had  a 
thousand  questions  to  ask  them  of  the  places  and 
people  where  he  had  been,  and  this  led  to  conversa- 
tions in  which  the  history  of  the  whole  country  was 
included.  The  homely  humour  and  shrewd  good 
sense  that  marked  the  communications  of  these  two 
villa-crs,  seemed  to  have  a  peculiar  relish  for  him  ; 
and,  in  truth,  they  were  of  that  sterling,  though 
rough  old  English  stamp,  that  cannot  fail  to  please 
those  who  are  charmed  to  find  true  sagacity  and  sound 
principles  in  the  lowliest  forms  and  most  obscure 
situations.  Tom,  as  we  have  seen,  had  a  crabbed 
way  with  him,  but  he  was  sound  at  heart  as  oak 
itself.  Mick  was  a  very  different  person.  He  was 
not  more  than  five-and-thirty  years  of  age,  was  tall 
and  somewhat  spare  in  person,  thoogh  remarkably 
strong  and  active.  He  always  wore  a  light  gray  coat 
with  pearl  buttons,  and  a  white  hat,  because  his 
trade  dia  not  suit  dark  colours.  His  face  was  some- 
what long  and  thin,  and  had  a  mixed  express  on  of 
kindliness  and  quiet  humour.  He  was  naturally  of  a 
sociable,  but  not  merry  temperament.  In  his  youth 
he  had  been  reckoned  somewhat  wild,  and  fond  of 
resorting    to   wakes    and   fairs;    but   that   was  not 


JOHN    FOX.  33 

because  he  was  of  a  dissipated  turn,  but  because  he 
was  fond  of  all  kind  of  active  sports,  and  exhibitions 
of  the  like  kind,  as  racing,  wrestling,  running-,  and 
so  on.  In  these  matters  he  had  been  too  eager  a 
better,  as  well  as  actor,  and  that  to  his  own  cost.  In 
a  wrestling  match  he  had  somewhat  injured  one  of 
his  knees,  and  went  with  a  slight  stiffness  in  it ;  and 
there  were  those  who  said  that  he  had  lamed  his 
business  by  those  feats  to  a  still  more  serious  degree. 
Be  that  as  it  may,  Mick  was  universally  allowed  to 
be  one  of  the  shrewdest  and  wittiest  fellows  in  the 
whole  neighbourhood  ;  yet  he  was  reckoned  anything 
but  a  prosperous  man.  He  now  stayed  more  and  more 
at  home,  and  seemed  to  have  turned  all  his  wrestling 
and  running  habits  into  his  tongue.  He  was  a  great 
arguer,  a  great  talker,  and  that  in  a  quiet,  but  origi- 
nal style,  that  was  most  picturesque  and  amusing, 
and  that  generally  soon  brought  the  less  clever  wits 
of  the  neighbourhood  into  a  regular  entanglement. 
John  Fox  delighted  above  all  things  to  draw  him  out, 
and  hear  him  talk.  He  said  that  it  was  to  him  like 
looking  on  a  green  meadow  in  May,  all  full  of  cowslips 
and  daisies,  and  orchis  blossoms,  to  hear  Mick  talk, 
there  were  such  flowery  colours  mixed  up  with  such 
a  racy  and  yet  exuberant  humour  in  his  speech. 
He  had  a  peculiar  way  in  showing  the  follies  of  men, 
by  driving  them  to  an  extravagance.  Thus  Mr. 
Fox  was  saying  one  evening  that  he  had  been  in 
various  countries,  and  found  one  of  the  greatest  com- 
forts everywhere,  as  well  as  the  greatest  conducivea 
to  health,  was  the  avoidance  of  soft  beds  and  too 
softly-cushioned  chairs.  "  There  is  laziness  and 
disease  in  them,"  said  he,  "  and  in  hot  climates,  the 
very  plague ;  I  always  sleep,  by  preference,  on  a 
mattress." 


U    'I 

u 


34  7)i)l  ill. I      LIGHTS    ARE    THROWN    ACROSS 

"  Why,  Mister,"  said  Mick,  M  I  wonder  yoa  donna 
lie  at  once  on  a  board.  It"  a  mattresa  be  bo  much 
healthier  than  a  feather-bed,  how  much  healthier  and 
agreeabler  must  a  good  deal  board  be  than  a  mattress. 
There  now,  you're  sitting  in  a  chair  with  a  rnah 
bottom — don't  you  think  you'd  be  a  deal  healthier 
and  comfortabler  sitting  on  that  three-legged  atooll 

Nay,  Maine  me  if  I  don't  think  that  yon  OUght  to 
have  nother  chair  nor  stool,  but  to  set  down  a  post 
and  rail  on  the  house  floor  to  n\  on.  Or  what  think. 
you  of  a  ronghish  faggot  pretty  well  Btuffed  with 

thorns?  That  would  be  vi  ry  cool  and  healthy,  and 
not  at  all  conducive  to  luxurious  laziness." 

These  are  extremes,  Mick — silly  extremes." 
Ay,  Mister,  and  I'm  fond  of  tli'  wise  extremes — 
that  is,  something  extremely  comfortable.  Oh  dunna 
tell  me  about  feather-beds  being  unhealthy  !  Of  a 
winter  night  how  softly  and  warmly  they  close  up 
about  you  !  Oh  then  you're  as  snug  as  an  apple  in 
a  dumpling." 

"  That  'a  the  very  thing,  Mick,"  said  John  Fox, 
"  that  makes  a  bed  so  unhealthy  ;  these  is  no  circu- 
lation of  air — you  are  closed  up,  as  you  say,  like  ar. 
apple  in  dough." 

"Circulation  of  air !  Oh  hang  it,  who  wants  a 
circulation  of  air  on  a  winter's  night'?  Circulation 
o' Warmth,  that's  what  1  want.  Odd's,  Mc.-ter,  if 
you  want  a  circulation  of  air  you  may  have  it  any 
day  on  the  top  <>f  my  mill  ;  but,  thank  goodness,  as 
for  me,  1  'm  not  a  windmill-sail,  but  a  miller." 

At  this  sally  T-om  Fletcher  burst  out  into  hearty 
laughter,  and  Mr.  Fox  was  fain  to  join  in  it;  he  raw 
that  lie  might  just  as  well  have  convinced  Mick  that 
Mahoramedanbun  was  better  than  Christianity  as  ihat 
mattresses  were  better  than  feather-beds. 


JOHN    FOX.  3fl 

"  I'll  tell  you  what,  Master,"  said  Mick  the  next 
day  as  they  were  on  the  mill-dam  fishing,  "  if  you 
are  so  fond  of  hard  lying  and  hard  living  you  should 
have  such  a  wife  as  our  friend  Tom's  was.  Thank 
heaven  !  —I  hope  it 's  no  sin  to  say  so — that  she  is  in 
her  grave  now,  for  Tom  had  a  hard  life  of  it  with 
her;  and  now  he  has  a  very  neat  and  kind  niece, 
that  makes  his  house  like  a  little  palace  of  comforts." 

"  What,  was  Tom's  wife  miserly  V 

"  Miserly  !  She  'd  skin  a  flint  for  breakfast,  and 
split  a  straw  and  roast  it  for  dinner.  It  was  all 
scrape,  scrape,  scrape  with  her.  If  you'd  have  flung 
a  shilling  into  this  dam  before  her  face,  she  'd 
have  jumped  in,  with  the  best  will  in  the  world,  and 
drowned  herself  in  the  hope  of  picking  up  the  shilling 
as  a  ghost,  and  carrying  it  into  the  other  world  with 
her.  Do  ye  know,  she  kept  a  shop,  and  I  used  to 
serve  her  with  flour  ;  but  it  was  always  a  regular 
battle  to  get  any  money  for  it.  Once  the  account 
was  seventy  pounds ;  so  I  goes  in  and  says,  '  1  've  a 
big  payment  to-morrow,  Martha — perhaps  you'd  let 
me  have  that  bic  of  an  oddment  for  flour.'  ' 

"  '  Eh  well-a-day,  how  thou  dost  talk,'  said  she  ■ 
'  it 's  but  an  hour  sin  that  greedy  grocer  was  here 
from  Nottingham  ;  he 's  always  a  coming  is  that 
rat-faced  fellow,  and  he 's  drained  me  as  dry  as  a 
bone.      In  a  bit  I'll  see  what  I  cau  do  for  thee.' 

"  That  had  been  her  story  for  two  months,  so  I  got 
up  to  come  away. 

"  '  Sit  thee  down,  Mick,'  said  Tom ;  *  and  now, 
oud  lady,  up  stairs  with  thee  and  down  with  the 
mony  and  pay  him.' 

"  '  Bless  thee,  lad !  I  tell  thee  I  have  not  a  farthing, 
if  it  war  to  save  my  life.' 

"  *  But  1  say,  pay  him; — do'st  hear  ? ' 


30  Iiol  I1I.K.    LIGHTS    AIIE    TIIUOWN    AC\l 

"  '  Oh  never  mind — never  mind,'  says  I.  'another 

day  will  do,  though  1  was  at  my  wit's  end  fur  money, 
hut  I  was  afeard  of  making  words  between  a  man 
and  his  wife.' 

"  '  Sit  thee  down,  Mick,'  said  Tom  more  earnestly. 

"  '  No,'  said  I,  *  I  'm  going;  good  night.' 

M  Tom  started  up,  and  holding  his  fist  over  my  head, 
Raid  firmly,  'Other  sit  thee  down,  Mick,  or  I'll 
knock  thee  down.  Thou  shall  have  it,  1  tell  thee, 
and  so  no  more  about  it.' 

"  The  moment  the  old  woman  heard  this  up  she 
jumped  as  nimble  as  a  young  lass,  and  up  stairs  she 
went,  and  before  a  man  could  say  'Jack  Robinson,' 
she  was  down  with  the  money,  and  said,  '  Well 
done,  Mick,  lad,  I  was  only  joking.' 

"  Now  would  you  believe  it,  Hester,  that  old  body 
had  stuffed  the  house,  almost  from  top  to  bottom, 
with  bank-notes?  When  she  lay  on  her  deathbed, 
the  cat,  frightened  by  a  strange  dog,  flew  up  stairs 
and  up  her  bed-curtains  and  on  to  the  bed-tester, 
and  down  comes  a  lot  of  something  all  ringling  and 
jingling  all  over  the  floor ;  and  what  was  it  but 
guineas  and  crowns  and  half-crowns,  a  whole  pot  full, 
that  she  had  hidden  and  that  the  cat  had  upset. 

"  One  day  Tom  was  folding  up  a  heap  of  stockings 
that  he  had  bought  from  some  poor  maker,  ami  was 
going  to  take  to  sell  to  some  hosier  in  Nottingham, 
when  he  felt  a  something  like  a  lump  in  one.  puts 
in  his  hand  and  pulls  out — what?  why  just  twenty 
pounds'  worth  of  bank  paper. 

"  'Now  that's  thy  doing,  Martha,'  said  he  to  his 
wife  as  she  lay  in  bed  just  by,  *  Isn't  that  a  silly 
sort  of  a  place  to  hide  money  in  ?  I  might  ha  taken 
this  to  th'  hosiers,  and  where  would  it  ha  been  then  ? ' 

"  'But  thou  didn't  take  it,'  said  she  very  quietly. 


JOHN    FOX.  J37 

*  and  so  tn  hosier  did  not  get  it.     What  would  ta 
have,  man?' 

"  Well,  no  sooner  is  th'  old  woman's  corpse  out 
of  the  house  than  Tom  sends  for  me,  and  we  begins 
a  regular  hunt.  We  turned  up  beds,  ripped  up  beds 
and  mattre-ses,  pulled  down  curtains,  pulled  open  all 
drawers,  felt  all  about  tli'  inside  o'  th'  desk,  up  th 
chimney,  under  the  thatch,  nay  into  the  very  pigsty 
and  everywhere  there  was  money,  money,  money, 
just  like  whisps  o'  hay.  'Good  gracious!'  says  I, 
'  what  eyes  must  Martha  have  had  for  hiding-holes  ; 
but,  Tom.  where  war  thy  eyesV  For  years  and  years 
had  this  poor  old  cretur  been  hoarding,  and  hiding, 
and  it 's  ten  to  one  if  we  have  found  above  half  her 
money,  but  what  we  did  find  bought  and  paid  for  a 
whole  farm.  I  can  tell  ye." 

"  Tom  is  rich,  then  ?  "  said  John  Fox.  "  I  am 
very  glad  to  hear  it.  But  with  such  property  why 
does  he  go  slaving  to  Nottingham  every  week  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Tom  thinks  the  folks  could  not  carry  on 
without  him.  I  've  often  asked  him  to  give  it  up 
and  make  himself  easy  and  comfortable  in  his  old 
age.  But  he  turned  sharp  on  me,  and  said,  '  What, 
thou  wants  to  be  rid  o'  me,  dost  ta.  Didst  ever 
know  an  old  tree  shifted  that  did  not  die  ?  lI  '11 
retire,'  says  an  old  tradesman  ;  ay,  and  he  generally 
retires  into  his  grave  !  I  tell  thee,  Mick,  when  a 
man  has  been  active  all  his  life,  when  he  stops  he 
stagnates.  His  blood  becomes  full  of  melancholy, 
and  he  's  gone.  Stop  a  brook  that  has  been  running, 
and  turn  it  into  a  pool,  and  what  is  it  ?— a  puddle  !' 
When  is  it  that  it  is  clear,  and  singing,  and  good  for 
anything?  While  it  is  running.  Stop  it,  and 
you  've  done  for  it  !  I  "ve  been  going  all  my  life, 
Mick;    and  when    I    stop,  I  shall  stop  altogether! 


88  A   ITARTMNO   sioiit   IN  HloniCES 

No,  no,   DOther  Siniler    nor  me    want    to    retire  yet. 

as  they  call  it — first  fifW,  say  1.  and  then  rrtire.  Hut 
we're  neither  of  us  vet  BO  haul  up  as  that  comes  to. 
No,  I  Bhall  go  on  yet,  if  it  were  only  to  carry  the 
young  things  their  hits  <>'  hive-letters,  and  to  bring 
th'  matter's  letters  and  newspapers,  When  I  want 
to  go  to  sleep  under  a  sod,  why.  then,  1  shall  cry 
'wo!'  for  the  last  time,  to  old  Smiler — and,  depend 
upon  it,  it  will  he  4  wo  '  to  us  ! '" 

The  three  acquaintances  chatted  on  from  evening 
to  evening  in  Tom  Fletcher's  house,  or  under  the 
trees  in  Gabriel's  garden,  with  their  pipes,  and  pots 
of  Cat-and- Fiddle  ale,  calm  and  cheerful  as  the  sun 
which  often  cast  its  Betting  beams  upon  them  there, 
when  a  single  incident  threw  a  rocket,  as  it  were,  in 
amongst  them,  and  made  them  leap  up  and  fly  a  dozen 
ways — here,  there,  yonder  !  and  that  to  some  purpose. 
Let  us  see  what  this  was,  in  another  chapter. 


CHAPTER    IV. 

A  STARTUNO  SIGHT  INTRODUCES  A   -TRANCE  8T0RT. 

It  was  one  evening  about  Midsummer  that  John 
Fox,  after  one  of  his  long  rambles,  entered  hastily 
into  Tom  Fletcher's,  where  Tom  and  Mick  Shay 
were  hoping  for  his  arrival.  He  looked  flushed, 
heated,  and  dusty.  His  usual  armed-chair  was 
standing  ready  for  him,  and  Tom's  pretty  niece  rose, 
made  a  curtsey,  and  drew  the  curtain  to  exclude  a 
hla/e  of  sunshine  which  fell  directly  on  the  chair. 
Hut  Mr.  Fox,  instead  of  seating  himself,  took  a  hasty 
turn  through  the  apartment,  and  then  wining  hjg 
hrow,   which   displayed   profuse  perspiration,   said. 


A    STRANGE    STORY.  39 

"How's  this,  my  friends?      Do  you   know  wln.t   1 
have  seen  ?     Do  you  know  what  has  taken  place  ?" 

"  What 's  that  ?  "  said  both,  at  once,  rising  from 
their  chairs. 

"  Why,  I  have  this  afternoon  strolled  round  hy 
Dainsby,  and  as  I  reached  the  gates  of  the  old  Hall, 
what  did  I  see?  A  sight  that  I  could  not  have 
believed  could  have  been  in  this  world.  A  sight  worse 
than  if  the  ghost  of  my  father  had  risen  from  the 
grave  and  bade  me  follow  him  quick  into  the  earth  3 
Can  the  villain  dare  even  that  ?  Are  there  no  bounds 
to  his  rascality  ?  Is  there  nothing  but  the  utter 
annihilation  of  all  that  is  ancient  and  venerable  that 
will  satisfy  him  ?  That  petty  demon  of  an  attorney 
has  at  last  put  the  finishing  stroke  to  his  presumption, 
and  if  he  be  not  stopped  all  is  over!" 

As  John  Fox  finished  this  sentence,  he  stood 
staring  at  Mick  Shay  without  giving  them  a  single 
ray  of  information  on  the  subject  of  his  excitement. 

"  But  what  is  it,  mester?"  asked  Mick.  "  What 's 
amiss  ?  Can  we  be  of  any  use  ?  Tell  us,  can  we 
run  for  help  anywhere  ?  " 

"  Ay,  run,  fly,  fetch  help,  both  of  you — let 's  see, 
where  are  my  papers  ? " 

"  Here  are  pen  and  ink,  sir,"  said  Tom's  pretty  niece, 
reaching  a  little  table  and  placing  these  articles  on  it. 

"  I  forget,"  said  John  Fox,  "  my  papers  are  at 
home — but  it  matters  not,  this  will  do."  And  with 
this  he  seemed  to  collect  himself  a  moment,  and, 
looking  at  the  two  astonished  men,  he  said  : 

"  Would  you  believe  that  Dainsby  Old  Hall  is 
going  to  be  pulled  down  ?  Would  you  believe  that 
that  pestilent  pettifogger  Screw  Pepper,  has  had  the 
audacity  to  doom  the  old  mansion  of  the  Fiamsteads 
^o  the  hammer,  and  that,  not  as  a  whole,  safe  ar»'l 


40  A    STARTLING    sl<;nr     INTItulH'CKn 

■s"m">  with  tli*?  estate,  but  piecemeal,  to  be  pulled 
down  by  scoundrelly  bricklayers  and  carpenters; 
and  to  be  converted  into  a  heap  of  dusty  scantlings 
and  brickbats,  and  dispersed  to  the  four  winds  of 
heaven  to  build  hovels  and  pigsties  out  of!  " 

"Dainsby  Old  Hall  to  bcpulleddown  .' "  oriedboth 
Tom  an.!  .Mick,  in  a  breath.  "Impossible!  They 
may  as  well  talk  of  pulling  down  the  church." 

"  Hut  I  tell  you  they  do  not  tulk  about  it  ;  they  are 
actually  proceeding  tod  ,it.  They  have  doomed  it,  have 
marked  and  condemned  it.     1  have  reen  it  with  my 
owneyes,and  wenrtsl  be  quick  or  the  ruin  will  begin." 
With  this  John  Fox  drew  a  large  handbill  from 
his  pocket,  and  holding  it  up,  they  could  see,  in  Large 
letters,  the   words  "Dainsby  Old  Hall,"  and  some- 
thing, in  letters  nearly  asgigantic,  about  '-Lots"  and 
"Building    Materials."       Having   displayed     this    a 
moment,  the  old  gentleman,  as  if  calmed  by  the  act, 
seated  himself  in  his  chair,  and  gating  on  Tom  and' 
Mick  intently,  who  also  reseated   themselves  on  the 
old  squab  opposite,  he  thus  proceeded,  in  ;,  tone  and 
language   that  presented    a  singular  contrast   to    his 
preceding  excited  address  : 

"  I  say,  I  strolled  round  to  Dainsby,  and  I  think  1 
never  saw- it  and  the  country  about  it  looking  more 
beautifully  than  in  the  Bummer  richness  of  the  pre- 
sent time.  All  was  BO  Liven,  leaves  ami  pasturage, 
all  so  fresh,  and  tender,  and  luxuriant.  The  uplands 
all  strewn  with  flowers  of  all  hues  ;  the  meadows  so 
deep  in  grass  already.  The  birds  everywhere  sing- 
ing; the  people  everywhere  busy  as  fa  the  joy  of 
their  hearts.  All  at  one  a  peacock  shouted  from  a 
great  elm-tree  by  the  parsonage,  and  that   called  my 

thoughts  as  by  magic  to  the  Old  Hall.  Ah  !  thought 
I.  iiow  joyous  and  how  beautiful  it  used  to  he  there, 


A    STRANGE    STORY.  41 

and  how  melancholy  it  must  be  now.  How  often 
have  I  heard  in  my  young  days  the  peacocks  scream 
from  its  lofty  trees,  and  now  it  stands  empty  and 
desolate.  If  I  should  go  past,  I  suppose  I  should 
hear  nothing  but  the  sparrows  wrangling  about  its 
roof,  and  hanging  their  long  hay-tufts  of  nests  from 
its  eaves.  I  should  see  nothing  but  weeds  and  decay- 
ing wood- work  and  grown-up  paths,  where  all  used 
to  be  so  cheerful  and  so  happy.  A  sort  of  melancholy 
fascination  drew  me.  I  would  go  there ;  I  would 
pass  and  see  what  a  sad  spectacle  it  was.  But  what 
was  that  I  saw  at  a  distance,  not  sparrows  on  the 
roof,  but  men.  I  was  struck  with  a  strange  feeling. 
What !  They  are  men  ?  My  eyes  do  not  deceive 
me?  Yes,  there  they  are.  At  the  very  top.  They 
have  ladders  and  are  ascending  to  the  very  cupola,  to 
the  very  vane.  There  again,  and  others  walking 
along  the  broad  parapet !  Nay,  there  are  some 
actually  in  the  balcony  over  the  principal  entrance. 
What  does  it  mean  ? 

"  1  hastened  onward  with  a  feverish  eagerness,  and 
yet  witli  a  cold  sensation  at  my  heart.  They  were 
workmen,  joiners,  bricklayers,  and  the  like.  I  could 
now  see  them  plainly.  And  below,  there  in  the 
court,  are  more  of  them  !  What  will  they  do?  Is 
the  old  place  sold  ?  Will  the  purchaser  repair  it  ? 
But  if  so,  why  all  these  men  at  once  here  scram- 
bling up  like  so  many  flies  about  it?  And  such  men, 
for  there  seem  to  me  to  be  as  many  masters  as  work- 
men. And  here  again,  what  is  this  ?  Before  the 
gates  stood,  drawn  up,  gigs,  carts,  shandry-dans. 
What  can  it  mean  ?  Are  they  valuers,  sent  by  men 
who  wish  to  purchase  ? 

"  I  drew  nearer.  Yes,  there  is  a  sale  intended.  1 
see  the  great  hand-bills  on  the  gate-posts  and  in  the 
.«  k2 


42  a  sniin.iMi  mom   intbodccei 

upper  windows.  Bui  whnt  is  thatt  I  came  still 
Dearer,  and  a  strange  hoi-ror  seized  me  I  I  beheld 
ehalked  <>n  the  front  of  the  house — "n  its  roof,  on  iti 
very  cupola — in  mammoth-like  letters,  '  Lot  14,' 
'Lot20,''Lol  25/  &c.  The  truth  Bashed  at  once 
upon  me;  they  will  sell  the  fine  old  place  for  male- 
rials  ;  they  will  pull  it  down;  and  here  are  the  birds 
of  prey  gathered  already  around  the  carcase  ! 

"  With  trembling  knees  1  advanced  to  one  of  the 
great  gate-posts,  and  read  what  confirmed  all  my 
fears, — what  stands  here  !  " 

John  Fox  again  held  up  the  great  hand-bill,  and 
then  flung  it  on  the  table  before  him, 

Whin  Tom  and  Mick  had  both  satisfied  their 
curiosity,  and  expressed  their  astonishment  over  the 
hand-bill,  .John  Fox  seemed  to  take  up  the  thread  of 
his  thoughts. 

"  I  never  till  to-day,"  continued  he,  "  frit  what  a 
Btrange  sensation  it  is  to  see  a  solid,  substantial  thing 
that  ymi  love  stand  before  you — stand  as  if  it  made 
part  of  the  earth  itself,  and  yet  feel  that  in  a  few 
d.i\s  it  will  have  vanished  from  the  spot  as  if  it  were 
a  mere  dream.  Dainsby  Old  Hall!  why,  it  is  con- 
meted  with  my  ideas  of  Dainsby  as  much  as  the  rery 
church,  or  the  very  ground  on  which  it  is  built. 
One  would  just  as  soon  expect  the  hills  that  rise  al) 
around  to  skip  away,  the  brook  that  has  always  hip 
down  the  valley,  to  disappear,  and  not  even  have  the 
channel  it  Ills  run  in.  There  stood  the  old  hall,  as 
I  gazed  on  it,  as  solid,  as  ponderoUB*  as  stately,  as 
venerable  as  ever,  and  yet  I  knew  that  if  nothing 
extraordinary  interposed  in  a  fortnight,  it  would  be 
all  down  and  dispersed  like  a  house  of  cards.  Is  it 
possible  1  said  1  to  myself;  can  that  old  house  of 
the  Fiainsteade  be  thus  really  conjured  away  like  an 


A    STRANGE    STORY.  43 

egg  from  under  a  hat  ?  Why,  it  has  stood  there 
I  reckon  these  three  hundred  years,  just  as  it  does 
now.  There  are  all  its  walls,  its  windows,  its  gables, 
and  its  cornices — they  are  no  shadows.  There  are 
all  its  rooms  and  passages — the  very  papers  and  the 
pictures  on  the  walls — the  very  furniture  which  lias 
been  used  by  so  many  individuals  of  the  family  and 
their  friends — and  I  can  see  as  plainly,  as  if  1  were 
in  it,  every  nook,  and  corner,  and  closet.  There  is 
the  old  French  settee  on  which  the  late  Mrs.  Flam- 
stead  used  to  sit  at  her  work-table — there  is  the  bil- 
liard-table at  which  we  have  had  many  a  merry  game 
— there  are  the  old  gentleman's  desk  and  his  easy- 
chair,  so  worn  out  at  the  elbows.  I  see  the  very  stag's 
horns  on  which  he  used  to  hang  his  spurs  and  his 
riding-whip.  There  are  the  old-fashioned  screens, 
and  the  rich  cabinets  sent  from  China  by  their  cousin 
the  merchant ;  and,  in  short,  all  through  the  house, 
there  is  not  a  thing  that  has  not  a  history  and  a  value 
that  would  draw  tears  from  the  very  dead,  at  the 
bare  idea  of  their  being  carried  away.  Carried 
away !  that  is  little ;  the  very  rooms  shall  be 
annihilated,  turned  into  spaces  of  common  air,  into 
nothing!  It  seemed  to  me  as  if  such  a  thing  was 
impossible.  They  are  real,  human  things !  said  I. 
They  are — they  must  be — they  cannot  be  other- 
wise !  What !  shall  I  walk  past  here  a  month 
hence  and  there  shall  be  no  Dainsby  Old  Hall  ?  Let 
the  earth  vanish  as  soon  ! 

"And  then  I  began  running  over  in  my  head,  or 
rather  in  my  heart,  all  the  events  which  had  stamped 
a  value  on  this  house,  and  which  belonged  to  it,  and 
it  alone.  I  saw  gay  wedding-parties  issue  from  it 
amid  the  peal  of  merry  bells  and  the  fluttering  of 
white  favours.     1  saw  gay,  handsome,  laughing,  and 


i4  A     STAIt  I  I. IN'.     M<. I!  I.      IIC. 

tearful  faces;  they  were  like  April  mornings,  all 
dew,  ami  sunshine,  and  beauty.  I  saw  gay,  hand- 
some parties  again  alight  at  the  gate,  and  enter  it, 
there  was  feasting — there  was  joy  !  I  saw  eager 
faces  harry  through  passages  niul  across  the  court; 
and  there  were  hasty  but  joyous  feet ;  the  church- 
bells  again  bunt  forth  with  their  riot  of  gladness— 
there  was  an  heir  horn  !  ()  !  how  many  of  these 
gladsome  events  have  there  been  at  this  old  house! 
What  gay,  active,  happy  forms  and  faces  ;  what  young 
families,  bound  heart  ami  hand,  have  grown  up  here! 
Ami  tlun  there  were  death-beds,  and  slow-pacing 
hearses — old  and  honoured  people,  who  left  life- 
long histories  here,  were  going  away.  Nay,  there 
came  such  a  train  of  such  things  across  me,  that 
I  hecame  desperate.  I  clenched  my  hand  at  the 
people    coming   out    to    their    gigs,    talking  of   their 

future  bargains,  of  lots,  and  sectioned  masses  of  these 

sacred  walls,  and  laughing  at  what  they  called  the 
lumber  of  wigged  and  gowned  ancients  that  would  go 
to  the  brokers  to  he  palmed  off  as  people  of  some 
account.  These  fellows,  I  have  no  doubt,  thought 
me  mad  ;  for,  snatching  that  hand-hill  from  one  ot 
them,  I  said, '  Scoundrels  !  you  have  not  yet  clutched 
your  prey  !  '  and  broke  away  in  a  state  of  frenzy. 

M  Ami  yet  I  was  much  to  blame.  The  men  were 
innocent  men  enough.  They  have  nothing  to  do  but 
to  follow  their  trade  and  make  their  bargains  ;  but 
there  is  one  villain  who  must  be  stopped,  let  it  cost 
what  it  may,  Mick.  Let  us  have  the  horse  and 
taxed-eart  here  in  half-an-hour ;  I  must  be  off  to 
Derby  to-night.  Tom,  yon  must  away  to  Ripley 
to  the  post,  with  a  letter." 

At  this  Mick  Shay  disappeared  with  Ion?  strides; 
Tom  put  on  his  carter's  frock  and  hastened  to  supper 


THE    FLAMSTEADS,  ETC.  43 

op  his  horse,  and  in  the  meantime  Mr.  Fox  wrote 
his  letter;  and  in  half-an-hour  Tom  was  posting  off, 
stick  in  hand,  and  Mick  and  Mr.  Fox  drove  off  in 
the  opposite  direction  at  a  spanking  rate  ;  for  Mick 
disdained  any  hut  first-rate  cattle,  and  his  tall  bay 
mare  went  at  a  speed  that  would  see  them  at  Derby 
within  the  hour.  While  they  are  thus  gone  there,  on 
important  business,  let  us  go  back  a  good  many  years 
and  learn  something  more  particular  about  Dainsby 
Old  Hall. 

CHAPTER  V. 

THE  FLAMSTEADS  AND   THEIR  FORTUNES. 

The  Flamsteads  had  been  residents  at  Dainsby  for 
a  vast  period  of  time,  probably  from  before  the  Nor- 
man Conquest ;  but  they  had  not  been  the  possessors 
of  what  was  called  the  Old  Hall  for  half  that  time. 
It  was  generally  said  to  have  been  built  in  the  reign 
of  Edward  VI.  They  had  acquired  possession  of  it 
only  after  the  civil  wars.  Till  then,  they  had  been 
plodding  farmers — a  portion  of  the  old  yeomanry  of 
England.  The  Dainsbys  became  then  extinct,  and 
the  younger  Flamstead  of  the  time,  having  risen  to  a 
captaincy  in  the  parliamentary  army,  was  enabled,  by 
favour  at  head-quarters,  to  make  a  cheap  bargain  for 
the  Hall  and  its  estate.  This  estate  did  not  exceed 
five  hundred  acres,  a  good  deal  of  it  of  strong  wheat 
land.  The  Flamsteads  removed  into  the  Hall,  and 
continued  to  cultivate  the  land  themselves,  maintain- 
ing a  station  something  like  that  of  a  gentleman- 
farmer,  before,  however,  such  a  compound  term  was 
known.  They  were,  in  fact,  gentry,  yet  nevei 
associated,  nor  aimed  to  do  so,  with  the  chief  gentry 
■  of  the  country.     They  seemed  to  prefer  preserving 


*'•  Tin:    i  LA »W  i  AM    and 

tl"'i  l'lai"  •""'  plodding;  character  of  the  family,  to 
leeking,  by  higher  accomplishment  and  ambition,  to 
raise  themselves  in  the  county-scale,  and  to  connect 
themselves  with  its  wealthier  families  by  marriage, 
thus  pro  lial.lv  increasing  the  estate  itself.  Nay,  the 
two  great  highways  to  advancement,  for  those  who 
had  a  portion,  and  vet  but  a  moderate  portion  of  the 
soil  of  their  country— the  church  and  the  law— they 

never  entered  upon.    One  would  have  tl ght  that 

this  would  have  been  the  most  natural  way  of  Secur- 
ing an  establishment  for  the  younger  sons  :  but  the 
plain  truth  was,  that  they  never  Beemed  to  seek  any 

sort  of  support  for  those.      The  eldest  son  always  took 

the  estate;  the  daughters  always  married  off  pretty 
well,  for  it  was  a  handsome  family  j  hut  the  second 
son,  and  there  was,  strangely  enough,   rarely   more 

than  two  sons,  and  often  not  more  than  one,  was  often 
a  sort  of  head- farmer  or  manager  for  the  elder  bruthw; 
and  if  they  did  not  agree,  was  often  little  better  than' 
a  vagabond.      Once,  indeed,   the  second   son  in   his 
old  age  actually  worked  on  the  roads,  and  the  family 
did  not  seem  to  trouble  itself  about  it  at  all.      This 
poor,    good-natured    fellow,   because    he    could  not 
tolerate  the  overhearing  airs  and  niggardly  conduct  of 
the  elder  hrother,  had  disdained  to  remain  under  any 
obligations  to   him,  hut  applied  at  once  to  the  parish 
for  relief,  thinking  this  would  pique  his  brother  to 
different  conduct;  but,  strange  enough,  the  brother 
came  forward  and  said  he  thought  that  it  was  a  very 
good  idea,  and  proposed  that  he  should  he  made  perma- 
nent repairer  of  the  road,  with  a  cottage  and  a  fixed 
salary.     "  We  have  always  been  workers,"  said  the 
elder    Flamstead,    "  work  is    no    disgrace ;    and   it 
makes  very  little  difference  whether  our  Guy   (the 
brother)  level  the  clods  in  the  fields  or  those  "on  the 


THEIR    FORTUNES.  47 

roads."  The  post  was  given  to  this  Guy  Flamstead  ; 
and  those  persons  who  are  actors  in  our  story,  John 
Fox,  Tom  Fletcher,  and  even  Mick  Shay,  could  well 
remember  Guy  when  an  old  man,  still  following  this 
vocation.  He  was  a  very  good-natured  old  fellow, 
fond  of  a  sup  of  ale,  and  not  at  all  hurting  himself  by 
labour.  He  might  be  seen  slowly  sauntering  along 
the  highway,  somewhere  about  the  village,  with  a 
shovel  and  a  mud-rake  over  his  arm  ;  but  still  oftener 
were  these  implements  to  be  seen  reared  at  the  ale- 
house door,  and  old  Guy  to  be  found  comfortably 
seated  with  some  of  his  village  cronies  within. 
Yet  one  circumstance,  well  attested,  will  not  allow 
us  to  believe  that  old  Guy  Flamstead  was  insensible 
to  the  injustice  of  the  family  custom  that  excluded 
the  younger  sons  from  a  share  of  the  family  property  ; 
for  once  when  a  notoriously  wicked  and  covetous  old 
fellow  was  on  his  death-bed,  he  went  to  visit  him, 
and  thus  addressed  him — "  Well,  so  the  doctor  says 
you  are  not  long  for  this  world.  You  '11  be  sure  to 
see  my  father  in  the  next  world — birds  of  a  feather 
will  flock  together,  I  warrant  'em,  there.  So  be 
sure  to  fell  him  that  my  brother  Simon  treads  very 
faithfully  in  his  steps.  He  has  turned  me  out  on  the 
roads,  you  can  say ;  and  now  he  has  himself  got  a 
second  son  to  follow  me  !" 

The  second  son,  Guy's  nephew,  here  alluded  to, 
was  the  clockmaker,  who,  we  have  incidentally  seen, 
was  the  mystery  of  the  neighbourhood.  This  youth, 
as  he  advanced  into  his  teens,  displayed  a  consider- 
ably thoughtful,  and  at  the  same  time  steady,  cha- 
racter. He  saw  his  old  uncle  Guy  on  the  roads  and 
his  father  in  the  possession  of  wealth.  He  heard 
that  this  had  always  been  tbe  case  in  the  family,  and 
asked  why  it  should  be  so?     At  this  question  every 


40  tim:   i  i.  \  \M  BAM   ami 

body  opened  their  eves  very  wide.  IHn  tit  her  stared. 
his  brother  Laughed,  but  as  neither  tin  itare  nor  tho 
laugh  at  all  cleared  up  his  ideas  about  the  injustice 
of  this  arrangement,  he  again  asked  the  question 
more  loudly  than  before.  On  1 1 1 i -  his  father  suid, 
'•  Nick,  dnst  thou*  think  thyself  wiser  than  all  the 
generations  that  have  gone  before  thee?  Dost  thou 
ask  why  the  eldest  boo  takes  the  estate?  'Tis  to 
keep  the  estate  together,  to  be  sure.  Where  would  it 
have  been  now.  think'st  thou,  if  every  younger  Flam- 
stead  before  our  time  had  carried  off  a  part  of  it  ?  I 
tell  thee,  the  auctioneer's  hammer  would  have 
knocked  it  into  a  thousand  shivers." 

"  Ay,  that  would  it,"  said  his  brother,  laughing 
again,  "and  neither  thou  nor  I,  Nicholas,  would  have 
gotten  an  atom  of  it,  so  thou  sees  it  is  a  deal  better 
as  it  is,  for  now  /get  a  good  tiling,  and  thou  gets  just 
as  much  as  thou  would  have  had  at  any  rate." 

"  But  just  tell  me  one  thing,  father,"  said  Nicholas 
Flamstead,  now  arrived  at  the  sagacious  age  o 
seventeen,  "  what  reason  is  there  in  making  one  son 
a  gentleman  and  the  next  one  a  beggar?  Is  there 
any  such  great  virtue  in  coming  a  few  days  or  years 
earlier  into  the  world  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  reckon  there  is,"  said  the  father;  "  it 
was  always  thought  so,  at  least  people  always  acted 
as  if  they  thought  so,  and  I  don't  pretend  to  he  wiser 
than  those  who  went  before  me.  Besides,  I  expect 
1  can  do  as  I  like  with  my  own." 

"  Only  he  sure  that  it  is  your  own  first,  father/' 
replied  Nicholas  calmly. 

The  old  man  and  the  elder  6on  opened  their  eyes 
wider  than  ever. 


*  In  this  rude  and  primitive  part  of  the  country  tli is  form 
of  the  pronoun  mi  always  familiarly  used,  and  even  is  fre- 
quently so  used  to  tli<  present  day. 


rilKIR    FORTUNES.  49 

"  Yes,"  repeated  Nicholas,  "  be  sure  of  that,  or  it 
may  bring  a  trouble  after  it.  It  seems  to  me  that  when 
God  gives  children,  he  makes  it  a  duty,  a  holy,  a  reli- 
gious duty  to  act  justly  towards  them.  They  are  all  his 
children  entrusted  to  your  keeping  for  a  while;  and 
if  he  give  you  substance  to  support  them  on,  and  you 
give  all  to  one  and  none  to  all  but  one,  will  he  not  one  day 
ask  you  a  question  or  two  about  your  stewardship  ?" 
The  old  man  stared  harder  than  ever. 
"  Nick,"  said  he,  "  who  taught  thee  all  this  fine 
talk  ?  I  never  heard  such  in  all  my  life  before.  I 
never  heard  th*  parson  talk  in  that  way." 

'  Then  make  me  a  parson,  father,"  rejoined  Nicho- 
las, "  and  I  will  talk  that  way  from  the  pulpit,  for 
it  is  high  time." 

"  Parson !"  exclaimed  the  brother.  "  Parson  !" 
exclaimed  the  old  man.  "  No  !  'Od  rabbit  thee. 
There  never  yet  was  a  parson  Flamstead  in  Dainsby. 
No,  I  see  what  thou  would  be  at;  thou  would  be 
tithing  thy  elder  brother's  lands." 

"Oho!  that's  it,  Nick,  is  it?"  said  the  brother; 
"  so,  if  thou  canst  not  have  the  estate  thou  will  at 
least  try  to  skim  the  cream  off  it.  A  pretty  parson 
thou  would  make.  One  may  see  already  what  sort 
of  a  lecture  one  should  get  though.  No,  Nick,  no— I 
would  much  rather  see  thee  clerk  than  parson." 

"  Well,  let  me  be  a  clerk,  then,"  said  Nicholas ; 
*  let  me  be  a  tradesman,  or  what  you  will — only  one 
thing  I  can  tell  you,  I  do  not  mean  to  be  a  beggar 
and  a  hanger-on." 

At  these  words  so  astonished  was  the  old  man,  who 
sate  at  his  favourite  evening's  employment  of  winding 
worsted  from  off  a  reel  into  balls  for  his  wife  to  knit 
with,  that  up  he  started  in  such  a  hurry  that  he 
knocked  down  the  reel. 


60  Till.    Kr.AMSTKADS    AND 

"  There,"  Baid  Nicholas,  very  composedly,  raising 
the  reel  again  from  the  floor,  u  it  lias  reeled  a  long 
time,  l)iit  it  has  (alien  at  last." 

Neither  father  nor  son  s  i\v  the  excellence  of 
Nicholas's  pun,  for  they  were  too  much  amazed  and 
confounded  at  his  daring  doctrines,  and  especially  at 
his  idea  of  being  a  tradesman.  No  Flam-tead  lmd 
been  a  tradesman  for  generations;  they  might  he 
farmers,  might  be  outcasts,  might  work  on  the  roads  ; 
but  a  trad. Milan  !  that  was  a  strange  idea.  They 
could  not  have  believed  that  a  Flamstead  could  have 
been  so  mean-spirited. 

But  Nicholas  was  still  more  mean-spirited  ;  for 
without  any  further  ceremony  he  marched  off  to  the 
little  town  of  Alfreton,  and  apprenticed  himself  to  a 
clqpkmaker!  If  the  clock  had  walked  out  of  the 
church-steeple, and  gone  chiming  alj  round  the  village; 
or  if  they  had  awoke  some  morning  and  found  the 
said  steeple  standing  on  the  point  of  its  spire,  it  would 
not  have  more  startled  the  inmates  of  Dainsl.y  Old 
Hall.  It  was  such  a  degradation  as  had  never  before 
befallen  the  Flamsteads  in  any  age.  Old  Guy  had 
been,  it  is  true,  a  common  labourer  on  the  roads  ;  hut 
what  of  that  ?  That  was  really  a  gentlemanly  calling. 
It  was  only  mending  the  roads  that  helonged  to  the 
Flamsteads.  as  the  Flamsteads  mended  their  acres; 
and  besides,  it  was  all  in  the  parish.  In  Dainsby 
parish  what  did  it  signify  ?— there  stood  the  Old  Hall 
to  say  to  anybody  that  the  Flamsteads  were  gentle- 
folks. But  in  a  strange  town,  and  in  a  little  shop  with 
clocks  and  watches  in  the  window  !  Well,  Nick  was 
crack-brained,  and  that  was  the  long  and  short  of  it. 

'•  No,  he'll  disgrace  me — he'll  disgrace  me,"  said 
the  brother;  "  that's  what  he  means,  because  he  can 
have  neither  half  the  estate  nor  the  tithe  of  it,  and 


THEIR    FORTUNES.  5] 

tell  me  of  all  my  sins  publicly  into  the  bargain.  But 
there's  a  remedy  even  for  that — he  shall  no  longer  he 
a  brother  of  mine  !  I  disown  him — he  belongs  no  more 
to  the  family,  and  so — we  are  not  disgraced  at  all." 

"  No,  that's  right,  Sykes,"  said  the  father,  "that's 
right — that's  a  famous  idea.  I  never  thought  of 
that.  He  doesn't  belong  to  the  family,  and  so  it  is 
no  disgrace  at  all." 

With  this  "  famous  idea"  both  father  and  son 
appeared  perfectly  satisfied.  Sykes  laughed  at  his 
happy  conceit  at  least  a  dozen  times  before  the  day 
was  ended.  The  mother,  who  could  neither  oppose 
them  nor  help  her  son  Nicholas,  was  silent ;  hut  she 
thought,  as  she  heard  her  husband  and  elder  son 
often  call  Nicholas  a  mean-spirited  fool,  that  perhaps 
he  was  no  fool  either.  He  had  always  had  a  turn 
for  mechanics,  and  he  would  thus  at  least  have  a 
livelihood  in  his  hands.  She  took  care  to  send  him 
his  box  of  clothes,  and  kept  up  a  private  correspond- 
ence with  him,  and  loaded  the  carrier's  cart  every 
week  with  good  things  for  him,  plum-cakes  and  fruit 
out  of  the  green-house,  garden,  and  orchard. 

Nicholas  did  not  venture  for  some  time  to  visit  hia 
native  home,  for  he  could  not  expect  a  very  pleasant 
reception  from  father  and  brother,  and  if  it  were 
painful  to  him  he  knew  that  it  would  be  tenfold  so 
to  his  mother.  His  father,  indeed,  wrote  to  his 
master,  threatening  to  indict  him  for  inveigling  away 
his  son  ;  but  Nicholas  put  an  end  to  this  by  declaring 
that  if  they  prevented  his  being  a  watchmaker  he 
would  turn  Methodist  preacher,  at  that  time  a  new, 
and  to  people  generally,  a  most  odious  character 
This  had  its  full  effect*.  After  a  while  his  mother 
intimated  to  him  that  she  thought  he  might  walk 
over  to  spend  the  Sunday  with  them.      He  did  so, 


62  TIIH    ritAMXTBAM    AM) 

but  it  was  a  trying  time.  The  Father  and  brother, 
who  pretended  not  to  see  him  at  all,  were  continually 
asking  what  o'clock  it  wa^,  and  whether  anybody 
know  of  a  fellow  from  whom  they  could  order  a 
good  clock  For  the  drawing-room.  Winn  Nicholas 
handed  to  his  brother  a  spoon  at  dinner,  he  smelt  at 
the  handle,  and  asking  his  father  if  he  did  not  think 
it  smelt  of  Florence  oil,  sent  it  away.  The  poor 
mother,  who  was  now  roused  to  indignation,  said, 
"  Oil  !  if  it  do  so  it  is  the  oil  of  fatness,  which  is 
spoken  of  as  a  blessing  in  the  Bible,  and  that  often  in 
our  days  makes  a  lord  mayor." 

"A   lord    mayor!        VVhy,   did    they    make    lord 
mayors  out  of  clock-makera  ?  " 

"Yes,"  said  the  mother,  "and  out  of  worse  things  ! 
Was  not  Dick  Whittington,  a  mere  hawker  of  cats, 
made  three  times  lord  mayor  of  London  ?  And  were 
not  all  the  lord  mayors  men  who  had  cone  up  to 
London  from  the  country  and  had  made  fortunes  in 
trade,  and  not  only  rode  in  a  golden  coach  as  grand 
as  the  kins-,  but  were  often  members  of  parliament, 
and  received  in  prcat  honour  at  court  ?  Hold  up  thy 
head,  my  Nicholas, "  said  she  proudly,  "and  one  day,  I 
warrant,  I  shall  see  thee  lord  mayor  of  London." 

If  Mrs.  Flamstead  had  prayed  for  the  wisdom  of 
Solomon,  it  could  not  have  framed  for  her  a  speech 
SO  exactly  adapted  to  the  capacity  of  her  husband  and 
son  Sykes.  Lord  mayor  !— it  was  a  new  idea.  He 
then,  thought  the  old  man,  would  be  greater  than  the 
Squire  of  Dainsby,  and  BO  thought  the  elder  son. 
From  that  day  they  neither  talked  of  ordering  clocks, 
nor  perceived  any  smell  of  Florence  oil.  Nicholas 
came  and  went  durirg  the  remainder  of  his  apprentice- 
ship, and  was  received  with  as  much  apparent  friend- 
liness  by  his  father  and   brother  as  before— bv  his 


THEIR    FORTUNES.  53 

mother  with  increasing  affection.  The  first  gold 
watch  which  he  could  put  together  to  his  own  satis- 
faction, was  presented  by  him  to  her  on  her  birth-day, 
and  was  worn  by  her  with  delight  ;  and  the  week 
after  Nicholas  received  from  London  a  box  containing 
a  set  of  the  most  perfect  tools  for  his  trade  that  had 
ever  been  seen  in  the  country,  with  a  fine  microscope 
and  a  life  of  Flamstead  the  astronomer,  a  branch  of 
their  family,  with  these  lines  written  in  it — "Go  on, 
Nicholas  Flamstead,  and  confer  the  like  lasting 
honour  on  your  family  ;  if  not  through  science — then 
through  virtue." 

It  must  have  been  at  this  period  that  our  friend 
John  Fox  was  the  comrade  of  Nicholas  Flamstead, 
and  accompanied  him  in  those  frequent  visits  to 
Dainsby,  which  appeared  to  have  made  indelible  and 
delightful  impressions  on  his  memory  ;  but  whence 
John  Fox  came,  or  who  he  was,  does  not  by  any 
means  appear.  Could  he  be  a  fellow -apprentice  ? 
Or  could  he  be  some  young  lawyer's  clerk  of  the  little 
town  of  Alfreton  ?  Or  was  he — but  we  have  never 
met  with  any  one  who  could  give  a  clear  answer  to 
these  queries;  and  John  Fox  was,  of  all  persons,  the 
most  reserved  on  the  subject.  It  seemed  to  affect 
him  deeply,  and  make  him,  as  a  friend  was  once  heard 
to  express  it,  "  introvert  himself,  and  roll  himself  up 
in  his  inner  man  into  the  compass  of  a  half- penny 
ball."  We  will  leave  these  unprofitable  questions, 
therefore,  and  pursue  the  history  of  Nicholas. 

On  the  expiration  of  his  short  apprenticeship,  he 
went  to  London  to  perfect  himself — if  with  the  hope  of 
being  one  day  lord  mayor,  he  did  not  succeed  — for, 
a  year  afterwards,  his  old  master  dying,  he  came 
down  to  Alfreton  and  took  his  business.  The  open- 
ing of  Nicholas  Flamstead's  shop  was  an  era  in  that 

f2 


rA 


TIIK    KI.AM-I  I    \  I)-;    AND 


little  town.  For  generations  had  its  watch  and  clock 
trade  jogged  on  in  the  Batnc  easy,  sleepy,  unadvancing 

way;   it  was   not  a  progress,  but  a   stand-still   in   the 

art.  At  once  Nicholas  dismissed  all  tin-  old  stock, 
at  a  juice  that  tempted  the  country  people,  who  were 
Willing  t'>  cany  watches  ns  large  as  turnips,  and  set 
up  decks  that  seemed  the  work  of  Tubal  Cain.  He 
opened  on  a  market-day  with  such  a  blaze  <>f  new 
articles,   as  fairly  struck    the  people    dumb    with 

amaze.      What  lovely  little  gold  ami  silver  watches  ! 

What  handsome  clucks  and  time-pieces  in  mahogany 
cases,    and    in   gold  !       What   new    constructions    of 

works,  and  what  wonders  had  Nicholas  to  exhibit 
and  explain  to  the  customers.  The  consequence  was, 
that  scarcely  a  person  within  twenty  miles  round  was 
now  satisfied  with  his  watch.  He  or  she  must  have 
one  of  the  new  construction,  or  principle,  as  Nicholas 
called  it.  There  was  no  talk  but  about  levers,  escape 
movements,  chronometers  and  engine-turning,  and 
ornamental  engraving  of  cases. 

Nicholas  was  soon  compelled  to  run  up  a  row  of 
new  workshops,  light  and  airy,  and  had  such  a  row 
of  men  at  work  in  them,  as  had  never  been  seen  in 
Alfreton  before.  People  said  that  people  might  live 
on  clocks  and  watches  instead  of  learn  the  time  by 
them.  But  it  was  not  simply  for  Alfreton  and  the 
country  round,  it  was  for  London,  that  Nicholas 
worked.  He  could  afford  to  work  cheaper  in  this 
cheap  neighbourhood,  than  could  be  done  in  London; 
and  as  his  work  was  equal  to  anything  there,  it  was 
ordered  by  London  houses,  and  was  sent  down  again 
to  various  towns,  and  even  abroad. 

Nicholas  Flamstead  was  a  flourishing  man,  and  not 
even  his  father  would  have  been  ashamed  of  him. 
But  during  his   abode   in    London   both    father  and 


THEIR    FORTUNES-  55 

mother  were  gone  to  their  ancestors :  his  brother 
Svkes  was  now  married,  and  had  one  little  boy. 
Svkes's  wife,  who  was  a  very  delicate  and  lady-like 
woman,  did  not  at  all  appear  to  despise  the  prosperous 
Clockmaker.  Many  of  her  own  relations,  in  fact,  in 
Derby,  were  connected  with  trade,  and  she  was  too 
sensible  not  to  know  the  value  of  it.  Nicholas  took  a 
particular  fancy  to  his  little  nephew;  used  to  carry  him 
out  on  a  Sunday,  when  he  came  to  Dainsby,  to  show 
him  the  birds' nests  in  the  hedges;  and  begged  that 
they  would  let  the  little  fellow,  who  was  now  four 
vears  old,  come  and   see  him.      This   was  done   at 

• 

once,  and  often  ;  for  Mrs.  Flamstead  whispered  to  her 
husband  that  there  was  nothing  like  letting  rich 
uncles  take  a  fancy  to  children,  and  her  husband,  not 
quite  so  sagaciously,  began  to  say,  "  Why,  Nicholas 
may  never  marry  ;  I  shouldn't  think  he  would.  He 
seems  quite  cut  out  for  an  old  bachelor,  and  in  fact 
is  married  to  his  clock-making." 

People  are  very  apt  to  see  this  cut  of  the  old 
bachelor  about  their  well-to-do  relations,  even  when 
they  are  young.  In  what  it  consists,  however,  it 
would  often  not  be  so  very  easy  to  say.  I  am  sure 
it  would  not  in  the  case  of  Nicholas  Flamstead.  He 
was  a  young,  active,  sensible,  social  man  ;  that  he 
admired  a  fair,  and.  still  more,  a  sensible,  woman,  any 
body  could  see  ;  that  he  was  fond  of  children,  was 
seen  by  his  liking  to  his  nephew.  But  as,  in  this 
case,  the  wish  was  probably  "father  to  the  thought," 
we  need  not  here  further  pursue  the  inquiry.  In 
«hort,  little  Henry  Flamstead  used  often  to  be  driven 
over  in  the  carriage  to  his  uncle's,  and  here,  seated  in 
a  tall  chair,  he  would  sit  for  hours  by  his  uncle  and 
watch  his  work.  It  would  not  have  been  easy  to 
sav    which    was  fonder  of  the   other,  the   uncle  or 


&Q  ram  raautTiAM  and 

the  nephew.  Niohoku  invented  all  mil  of  pieces  of 
machinery  for  the  little  boy  with  belle  and  larama, 

which,  as  they  noisily  ran  down,  made  the  little 
fellow  laugh  nil  he  shouted,  or,  ns  his  delighted 
unci.'  »aid,  "chinked  again."  Others  were  little  men 
sawing,  and  water-wheels;  and  at  last  Nicholas  even 
made  the  hardy  request  to  present  him  with  a  splen- 
did cuckoo  clock,  in  a  great  Chinese  case,  to  stand  in 

the  hall  at  Dainshy.  There  was  but  one  point  on 
which  he  knew  that  his  gift  would  find  a  repulsion  in 
the  feelings  of  the  parents,  and  that  was  to  see  on  a 
cluck  in  Dainshy  Old  Hall,  the  name  df  a  I  i.v.MSi  kad, 
MAKER;  hut  this,  with  a  delicacy  worthy  of  a  true 
man  of  merit,  he  laughingly  told  them  should  not 
appear  there  till  he  could  set  under  it— lord  nia\or 
of  London ! 

Fortune  now  seemed  to  shower  her  favours  on 
Nicholas  ;  his  husiness  was  such  as  must  in  a  few 
years  insure  wealth,  and  at  once  wealih  fell  on  him 
from  another  quarter.  His  mother's  sister,  whom  lie 
had  merely  seen  when  he  was  but  a  boy,  as  his 
nephew  Henry  was  now,  died  and  left  him  ten 
thousand  pounds.  She  had  not  disdained  to  marry  a 
London  tradesman,  and  knew  not  only  how  to  dis- 
cover merit  hut  how  to  reward  it  in  a  few  words. 
"To  my  nephew,  Nicholas  Flamstead,  Clockmaker 
ofAlfreton,  Derbyshire,  who  disdained  to  he  useless 
to  society,  and  was  too  proud  to  he  a  gentlemanly 
beggar— Ten  Thousand  i'ounds." 

h  Well,  now  Nick  will  drop  the  clocks  and  watches 
to  a  certainty,"  said  bis  brother  S_\k<s  triumphantly. 
"  I  don't  believe  he  will,''  said  Mrs.  8)  krs  Flamstead; 
and  she  was  right.  The  ten  thousand  pounds  was 
well  invested,  and  it  remained  there.  The  shop  of 
Nicholas  Flamstead  was  as  full  of  watches,  wheels, 


THEIR    FORTUNES. 


57 


and  swinging  pendulums  as  ever.  Nobody  could  see 
that  the  ten  thousand  pounds  made  a  hair's  difference 
to  the  life,  views,  or  prospects  of  Nicholas  Flamstead. 
But  precisely  at  the  moment  when  Nicholas  seemed 
more  wedded  to  his  business  than  ever,  he  astonished 
the  whole  country.  All  at  once,  there  was  a  rumour 
that  he  had  disposed  of  his  business  to  a  London 
house  and  had  disappeared.  He  had  ridden  over  to 
Dainsby  on  the  Sunday,  and  had  taken  a  \ery  kind 
leave  of  them,  saying  that  he  was  going  a  longish 
journey.  The  nursemaid  said  that  she  had  never 
seen  Mr.  Nicholas  so  fond  of  little  Henry,  nor  kiss 
him  so  when  he  went  away;  and  what  astonished 
them  all  no  little,  when  the  boy  came  to  be  undressed 
there  was  found  a  most  beautiful  gold  watch  with  a 
gold  chain  in  his  pocket,  inscribed  within  the  case, 
"To  Henry  Flamstead,  as  a  remembrance  from  his 
uncle  Nicholas."  The  watch  was  declared  soon 
afterwards  by  a  maker  to  be  worth  a  hundred  guineas. 
Scarcely  was  the  report  of  the  disposal  of  his  business 
abroad,  which  was  found  by  the  family  to  be  true, 
than  a  hundred  other  obscure  and  contradictory 
reports  flew  about.  One  said,  "  Ay,  Mr.  Nicholas 
was  a  shrewd  fellow.  He  was  too  wise,  with  ten 
thousand  pounds,  to  stick  all  his  life  to  a  watch- 
maker's shop ;  he  would  see  the  world,  and  did  not 
want  the  fuss  of  leave-taking."  Another  hinted  that 
there  w*as  a  lady  in  the  affair :  that  his  visits  to 
London  had  been  much  more  frequent  than  usual, 
and  his  stay  there  a  fortnight  at  a  time,  which  might 
lie  true  enough  when  he  was  about,  from  whatever 
cause,  disposing  of  his  concern.  About  a  month  aftei- 
warjs  a  hat  was  found  on  the  banks  of  Butterly 
Reservoir,  a  large  sheet  of  water  not  many  miles 
troni  Alfreton,  and  although  it   had   evidently  lain 


68  THE    FI.AMSTEADS    AND 

Ions?  under  water,  or  been  drenched  with  rain,  till 
it  had  lust  too  much  of  its  shape.  and  all  trace  of 
name,  of  wearer  or  maker,  there  wire  not  wanting 
those  who  declared  that  it  somehow  strangely 
reminded  them  of  Nicholas  Flamstead.  This  excited 
a  great  sensation.  The  Flamsteads  made  ail  the 
possible  inquiries  oiler  the  particulars  of  these  matters, 
and  after  Nicholas  in  London.  Nowhere,  however, 
could  anything  be  learned  of  his  movements,  except- 
ing this  important  fact,  that  he  had  by  a  power  of 
attorney  lodged  the  ten  thousand  pounds  in  the  hands 
id'  an  eminent  banking-house,  with  this  strict  and 
literal  order,  that  the  said  sum  of  ten  thousand 
pounds  should  remain  in  its  present  investment,  and 
the  proceeds  of  it  he  also  invested  by  the  said  house 
according  to  the  best  of  its  judgment ;  and  that  the 
whole  amount  of  capital  and  accumulated  interest,  or 
investment  of  that  interest,  should  remain  till  further 
written  order,  or  the  return  of  the  said  owner.  In 
case  he  did  not  return  or  send  such  order,  the  said 
sum  should  remain  in  the  said  hands  till  the  period 
when  he,  the  said  owner,  should  have  arrived  at  the 
natural  age  of  eighty  years,  a  reason  for  this  heing 
given  that  many  of  the  owner's  ancestors  had  lived 
to  that  age.  Failing  all  order  or  return  till  that 
period,  the  whole  accumulated  sums  should  then  be 
paid  over  to  the  owner's  nephew,  Henry  Flamstead, 
if  surviving,  or  to  his  children  if  dead,  in  equal 
shares.  Failing  issue  on  the  part  of  the  said  Henry 
Flamstead,  the  sum  should  go  to  build  at  Alfreton, 
hospitals  for  poor  clock  and  watchmakers  of  Derby- 
shire, with  a  stipulated  weekly  allowance. 

The  discovery  of  this  singular  fact  gave  a  new  and 
active  stimulus  to  the  inquiries  on  the  part  of  the 
family  of  the  missing  clockmaker.     A  missing  man 


THEIR    FORTUNES.  69 

with  ten  thousand  pounds  is  worth  looking  after. 
Every  rumour,  therefore,  of  men  being  found  in 
this  pond,  and  that  river,  was  instantly  attended  to ; 
every  inquiry  was  made  amongst  his  own  acquaint- 
ances and  connections  in  town  and  country,  but  he 
neither  floated  up  out  of  any  water  nor  any  society. 
A  few  months  after  his  disappearance  there  was  a 
slight  clue  to  something  like  a  love-affair  laid  hold  of 
in  London,  but  nothing  definite  was  made  out.  The 
lady  was  gone  out  to  India  with  her  family,  and 
there  was  not  one  of  their  remaining  friends  that  could 
make  more  of  the  rumour  than  a  rumour.  This 
clue,  however,  slight  as  it  was,  gave  a  direction  to 
the  inquiries  of  Nicholas's  brother ;  and  it  was  soon 
clearly  ascertained  that  he  had  actually,  within  a 
week  of  his  leaving  Dainsby,  embarked  in  the  India- 
man,  Alicawn,  for  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope.  The 
result  of  inquiries  at  the  Cape  were  not,  however, 
very  satisfactory.  He  had  not  gone  to  India  with 
the  Alicawn,  yet  no  trace  of  him  was  to  be  found  in 
the  Cape  Colony-  For  aught  any  one  could  tell,  he 
might  be  gone  off  to  locate  himself  with  the  Caffres 
or  Hottentots,  or  to  explore  the  interior.  There  was 
a  shipping  clerk  who  seemed  to  recollect  such  a 
gentleman  at  one  time  hovering  about  the  harbour, 
and  being  particularly  anxious  in  his  inquiries  after 
a  certain  ship  expected  from  England  on  its  voyage 
to  India.  But  when  further  {tressed  to  refresh  his 
memory  and  add  other  particulars,  they  were  so 
unlike  anything  belonging  to  Mr.  Nicholas  Flamstead 
that  they  only  nullified  his  previous  statements. 

Here  for  a  long  time  all  intelligence  stopped.  That 
Nicholas  had  been  at  the  Cape  was  certain,  but  how, 
or  when,  he  went  thence,  was  wrapped  in  impenetrable 
gloom.     The  matter  seemed  to  have  exhausted  all 


60  111)       H,.l>hMA>    AND 

rational  conjecture,  find  to  deep  ;  when  about  two 
vcars  afterwards,  some  one  accidentally  saw  in  an 
American  paper  the  name  of  a  Mr.  Nic.  1  laraslead 

as  that  of  a  rising  senator  in  one  of  the  Western 
States.  It  turned  out,  however,  to  be,  in  reality,  a 
Mr.  Nicander  Flemstcd,  a  Dane.  This  incident, 
nevertheless  <  1  i <  1  not  quench  curiosity,  it  only  turned 
into  a  particular  field  the  eyes  of  the  inquirers,  and 
these  now  were  not  a  few,  for  the  mysterious  disap- 
pearance of  a  man  of  so  much  suhstance  was  become 
almost  a  public  topic.  It  was  a  most  interesting 
riddle  which  various  people  found  various  good 
reason  for  desiring  to  solve.  Colonial  papers  were 
eagerly  explored,  and  it  was  not  long  before  sanguine 
hopes  were  entertained  that  the  retreat  of  the  fugitive 
would  be  detected.  There  were  seen  some  adver- 
tisements of  some  very  large  flocks  of  sheep,  and  an 
immense  stock  of  wool,  for  sale  in  the  district  of 
Sidney,  New  South  Wales,  the  property  of  a  Mr.  N. 
Flamstead.  What  so  likely  as  that  Nicholas  should 
have  shipped  himself  from  the  Cape  for  New  Holland, 
and  embarked  in  what  appeared  then  the  most  pro- 
mising of  speculations — the  growth  of  Australian 
wool.  It  was  recollected  that  Nicholas  as  a  boy  had 
been  much  captivated  by  the  relation  of  Colonial 
adventure  ;  and  that,  moreover,  he  had  been  very 
fond  of  sheep ;  and  bestowed  much  attention  on 
them  on  the  farm.  Eager  were  the  inquiries  now 
sent  out  to  Sidney,  and  in  about  twelve  months  more 
a  very  circumstantial  account  was  received,  that  the 
Mr.  N.  Flamstead,  in  question,  was  a  Mr.  Noah 
Flamstead,  a  well-known  and  very  wealthy  citizen  of 
Sidney,  of  at  least  seventy  years  of  age,  and  having 
equally  well-known  correspondents  in  London,  to 
whom  the  inquirers  were  referred.     These  repeated 


THEIR    FORTUNES.  61 

disappointments  now,  indeed,  did  cool  the  ardour  of 
search  ;  the  relations  were  reluctantly  compelled  to 
await  the  events  of  time,  yet  now  scarcely  more  than 
half  hoping  that  even  this  would  clear  up  the  singu- 
lar fate  of  the  Clockmaker.  But  their  hopes  were 
destined  to  receive  a  speedy  revival.  A  clerk,  at 
Lloyd's,  turning  over  a  file  of  Indian  papers  for  a 
very  different  object,  accidentally  fell  on  the  account 
of  a  duel  which  had  been  fought  in  the  suburbs  of 
the  city  of  Bombay,  and  in  which  the  name  of  Mr. 
Nicholas  Flamstead  occurred  at  full  length  as  the 
challenger.  It  was  stated  that  the  quarrel  had 
arisen  from  a  very  singular  and  deeply  interesting 
love-affair.  The  two  opponents  had  been  both 
zealous  candidates  for  the  hand  of  a  young  and  lovely 
lady  of  good  family,  and  of  singular  beauty  and 
accomplishments,  as  well  as  of  most  fascinating  dis- 
position ;  that,  as  is  often  the  case,  the  one  suitor 
had  the  favour  of  the  lady,  the  other  that  of  her 
family ;  the  intimacy  had  commenced  in  England  ; 
the  family  had  suddenly  embarked  for  India,  the 
father  having  received  -a  high  official  appointment, 
and  the  two  rivals,  it  would  seem,  had  immediately 
followed.  One,  indeed,  was  supposed  to  have  pre- 
ceded the  lady  and  her  family.  The  date  of  these 
transactions  was  precisely  that  of  the  disappearance 
of  Nicholas  Flamstead ;  and  the  duel  had  taken 
place  within  a  month  of  the  arrival  of  the  parties. 
Nicholas  Flamstead  was  actually  the  challenger; 
his  opponent  was  seriously  but  not  mortally  wounded. 
But  that  which  gave  the  most  singular  and  melancholy 
interest  to  this  case  was,  that  within  six  hours  of 
the  taking  place  of  this  rencontre,  the  lady,  on  whose 
account  it  had  arisen,  died  of  a  rapid  and  malignant 

Q 


02  THK     KI.AHSTKAOS    AND 

disease  of  the  country,  apparently  that  which  is  now 
known  by  the  name  of  the  cholera. 

These  remarkable  facts  were  immediately  com- 
municated to  Mr.  Sykcs  Flamstcad,  who  hastened 
up  to  London  and  put  in  train,  through  a  high  official 
channel,  the  most  efficient  measures  for  ascertaining 
the  identity  of  Mr.  Nicholas  Flamstead,  the  Clock- 
maker,  with  the  Mr.  Nicholas  Flamstcad  of  the  duel. 
Such  were  the  collateral  facts  of  the  case  that  there 
appeared  very  little  doubt  that  these  were  one  and 
the  same  man.  The  impatience  with  which  the 
return  of  the  Indian  Mail  was  expected,  may  be 
imagined.  It  came — the  gentleman  had  been  readily 
found — the  facts  were  all  correctly  stated  ;  but  the 
Mr.  Nicholas  Flamstcad  of  the  duel  did  not  in  any 
single  particular  correspond  with  that  sent  of  the 
missing  gentleman.  Mr.  Nicholas  Flamstead,  the 
Clockmaker,  was  described  as  a  person  of  full  form, 
five  feet  eight  in  height,  of  most  decidedly  formed 
features,  a  fair  and  ruddy  complexion,  with  light- 
brown  hair,  and  gray  eyes.  The  Mr.  Nicholas 
Flamstead  of  the  duel  was  a  tall,  thin  man,  of  a 
dark,  sallow  complexion,  black  shining  hair,  of  a 
longish  and  saturnine  countenance.  He  was  a  mer- 
chant of  extensive  affairs  — and  was  not  related,  nor 
had,  indeed,  heard  <>f  the  Flamsteads  of  Dainsby. 

From  this  time  nothing  further  was  heard  of  the 
Clockmaker.  Not  a  rumour  arose  ;  not  an  inquiry 
was  instituted  ;  all  conjecture  seemed  completely  at 
fault,  and  a  silence  and  oblivion  fell  over  the  actual 
fate  of  Nicholas  Flamstead  as  profound  as  death 
itself.  As  years  went  on,  the  conviction  that  he 
could  not  possibly  be  in  existence  grew  almost  to 
certainty  :  there  never  came  to  the  trustees  of  his 
property  the  slightest  intimation  from  him  or  of  his 


THEIR    FORTUNES.  63 

existence.  Ten,  twenty,  thirty,  forty  years  rolled 
over,  and  it  was  the  same.  Most  of  the  banking 
firm  into  whose  hands  the  Clockmaker  had  committed 
his  money,  had  successively  departed  this  life  ;  yet 
the  property  itself  was  as  regularly  attended  to  by 
their  sons  and  successors  as  it  had  been  by  themselves. 
There  wanted  now  but  fifteen  years  till  the  time  of 
the  trust  should  expire,  and  the  whole  now  swollen 
mass  should  devolve  to  the  nephew  of  the  vanished, 
and,  pretty  certainly  defunct,  Clockmaker.  And 
what  a  sum  it  was  !  So  well  had  the  banking-house 
fulfilled  its  important  trust;  so  well  had  it  exercised 
the  discretionary  power  vested  in  it,  that  the  ten 
thousand  pounds  was  not  now  become  forty  thousand, 
as  in  the  regular  course  of  accumulation,  but  by  pur- 
chase into  certain  companies  for  public  accommoda- 
tion in  the  metropolis,  and  in  particular  into  a  certain 
water-company,  that  it  had  reached  the  actual  sum 
of  eighty  thousand  pounds !  We  may  imagine  the 
intense  interest  which  every  year  added  to  the  ex- 
pectancy of  this  remarkable  honey-fall.  What  specu- 
lations were  there  in  many  fanciful  heads !  Should 
the  old  man  now  actually  appear  !  Should  some 
claimant,  one  of  these  days,  arrive  with  the  written 
order  or  the  will  of  the  Clockmaker ;  some  young 
Flamstead  out  of  the  back-settlements  of  some 
distant  colony,  and  swoop  upon  and  bear  away  the 
stupendous  prize  just  as  it  seemed  about  to  fall  into 
the  hands  of  the  long-expectant  party.  The  very 
thought  was  enough  to  drive  a  nervous  man  mad  ; 
nor  were  there  wanting  those  good-natured  people 
who  took  care  to  suggest  these  fever-fraught  ideas  to 
Mr.  Henry  Flamstead  and  his  family.  "  It  is  really 
now,  a  long  time,  to  be  sure,"  they  would  say  ;  "  and 
as  to    all   earthly  probability   one    might  call   it  a 


f>4  NEW    rOBTVMM    OP    TUB    FI.AMSTKADU 

settled  thing — but,  as  tlie  old  proverb  has  it, «  Then 
is  many  a  slip  between  the  cup  and  the  lip.*" 

The  Flamatead  family,  however,  had  at  this  time 
other  goads  of  the  world  to  sting  and  torture  their 
feelings  ;  and  it  is  now  our  duty  to  turn  back  and 
follow  out  another  scries  of  events. 


CHATTER  VI. 


NKW    FORTUNES  OF  TI1K   ki.amstkadk. 
During  the  period  we  have  referred  to  in  endea- 
vouring to  unearth  the  Cloekmaker   in   his  sudden 
burrowing  down  out  of  the  cognizance  of  mankind, 

if  he   had  not,  indeed,  become  earthed  for  ever,  the 

little  nephew  Henry  had  shot  up  into  manh I.    He 

hore,  however,  a  very  different  aspect,  stamp  and 
spirit,  to  those  of  the  old  race  of  Flamsteads.  They 
were  sturdy,  hardy,  plodding  yeomen  ;  Henry  was 
tall  and  delicate  in  frame  and  aspect  ;  they  had 
adhered  remarkably  to  the  homely  and  somewhat 
sordid  way  of  living  and  thinking  of  their  ancestors. 
Henry  had  the  mind  and  hearing,  the  feelings  and 
ideas  of  a  gentleman,  and  that  too  of  a  sensitive  and 
refined  one.  As  a  hoy  he  was  always  more  fond  of 
his  mother's  society  than  his  father's.  He  cared 
little  for  looking  after  the  cattle,  and  the  Bhcep; 
after  the  men  in  the  farm  and  at  plough,  as  his 
father  had  done  and  wished  him  to  do.  He  preferred 
riding  his  pony,  and  reading  a  hook,  or  listening  to 
the  stories  that  his  mother  was  accustomed  to  tell  him. 
Nothing,  however,  delighted  him  so  much  as  to 
accompany  his  mother  in  her  walks  and  her  visits. 

His  father  used  to  say,   4i  Why,  Henry,  you  will 
ucver    be    good  for   anything ;     you  are  a  regular 


NBVf    FORTUNES    OF    THE    KI.AMSTEADS.  65 

bantling.  You  are  always  hanging  to  your  mother's 
apron-string,  like  her  pincushion.  Out  upon  you  ! — 
you  will  be  quite  nesh  *  ami  girlish ;  nay,  you  must 
surely  be  meant  for  a  girl." 

The  old,  rough  farmers  of  the  village  said,  "  Ay, 
here  's  a  change  !  This  is  no  chip  of  the  old  block. 
The  Flamstead  blood  has  run  out — the  Chetwynd 
blood  (that  of  his  mother's  family)  has  got  the  upper- 
most, and  master  Henry  will  be  none  o'  your  clod-hop- 
pers, but  a  thorough  fine-fingered  gentleman  !" 

There  was  a  good  deal  of  truth  in  the  observations 
of  both  father  and  neighbours.  Henry  did  really 
take  extremely  after  his  mother;  and  his  affection 
for  her  was  not  greater  than  the  influence  of  her 
tastes  and  feelings  were  all-powerful  over  him.  She 
was  a  shrewd  and,  in  many  ways,  a  worldly-wise 
woman  ;  but  she  was  at  the  same  time  a  very  clever 
and  lady-like  one.  She  had  higher  tastes  and 
accomplishments  than  had  usually  been  the  case 
with  the  Flamsteads'  wives.  She  had  moved  in  a 
much  more  refined  circle.  She  had  no  child  but 
Henry,  and  thus  he  became  son  and  daugher,  and 
everything  to  her.  She  had  read  a  good  deal,  had  a 
deal  of  imagination,  and  found  in  Henry  a  most 
willing  listener  to  what  there  was  no  one  besides  at 
home  who  understood  or  appreciated  in  her.  She 
inoculated  Henry  with  her  love  of  music  and  sing- 
ing, as  well  as  delighted  him  with  her  gifts  in  these 
respects ;  and  thus,  perhaps,  still  more  softened  his 
character,  already  too  soft  for  his  position. 

As  he  grew  up  he  was  sent,  through  her  influence, 
which  was  great  over  her  husband,  to  a  far  higher 
school  than  any  one  of  his  ancestors  had  gone  to — to 
one,  indeed,  where  he  found  the  sons  of  almost  all 

•  Tender. 

o2 


GH  NEW   FORTUNES   "K    Tin     PLA1RTEATM. 

the  gentry  of  his  native  coanty  of  his  own  age  ;  n*d 
this  again  not  only  refined  hia  manners,  but  gave  a 
more  confirmed  bias  to  his  delicacy  of  taste.  The 
robnster  habits  of  the  more  ri>l»n>t  and  more  practical 
portion  of  the  boys  he  instinctively  turned  from. 
His  growth,  from  his  fifteenth  to  his  twentieth  year, 
was  so  rapid  that  the  most  serious  fear--  of  consump- 
tion were  entertained  ;   and  as  lie  was  the  only  child, 

these  fears  were  proportionably  stronger,     lie   was, 

therefore,  not  once  required  by  his  father  to  devote 

his  attention  to  the  business  of  the  estate,  but  with 
a  s.-rvant  and  a  due  allowance  was  Bent  to  travel  in 
different  parts  of  the  kingdom,  or  was  accompanied 
by  his  parents  every  summer  to  the  sea-coast. 

In  his  twentieth  year  he  was  a  tall,  slim  youth,  i  f 
a  very  delicate  and  vet  somewhat  rosy  complexion; 
yet  this  rose-hue  was  so  soft  and  fugitive  that  the 
paleness  of  languor  might  often  be  seen  usurping  its 
place.  He  was  of  a  very  mild,  quiet,  and  gentle 
manner;  and,  no  doubt  from  his  sense  of  his  frail 
hold  of  life,  was  of  a  decidedly  religious  turn  of  mind. 
At  this  age  his  father  met  with  his  death  in  a  singu- 
lar manner.  Fie  was  out  following  the  hounds  of 
old  Mr.  Lowe,  of  Locko.  They  were  crossing  the 
moors  at  Horristan,  when,  coming  in  the  heat  of  the 
pursuit  to  a  sudden  descent,  which  was  covered  with 
a  glazing  of  ice,  his  horse  fell,  and  he  was  precipi- 
tated with  his  head  against  a  mass  of  stone  that  lay 
on  the  moor,  and  was  taken  up  dead.  His  mother 
was  so  shocked  at  the  news  that  she  was  seized  with 
spasms  of  the  chest  ;  which,  though  conquered  ap- 
parently at  the  time,  yet  recurred  again  and  again 
at  different  intervals  with  such  violence,  that  the 
medical  man  appiehendcd  their  approach  to  t lie 
region  of  the   heart  ;  that   she  would   probably   one 


NEW    FORTUNES?  OF    THE    FLAMSTEATW.  67 

<5ay  expire  suddenly.  Tliis,  in  feet,  took  place,  as 
she  sate  after  dinner  in  a  particularly  gay  humour. 
The  housekeeper  had  come  in  with  some  story  of 
a  ludicrous  nature,  which  had  just  occurred  in  the 
village,  at  which  she  was  so  much  amused  that  she 
laughed  heartily,  and  in  the  midst  of  her  mirth,  lay- 
ing her  hand  suddenly  on  her  heart,  said  painfully 
"Oh,  Heavens!"  and  expired  in  her  chair. 

The  Flamsteads  had  usually  been  a  tolerably  long- 
lived  family,  and  there  had  most  frequently  been 
seen  here  an  old  grandfather  occupying  the  easy- 
chair,  when  the  children  of  the  son  in  his  prime  were 
playing  around  it.  But  here,  now,  was  the  sole 
descendant  of  the  race, left  suddenly  alone  in  his 
house  at  the  age  of  twenty-one,  and  that  with  so  frail 
an  apparent  hold  on  life,  that  it  well  might  create 
fears  of  the  endurance  of  the  line.  There  was  also 
reason  in  the  state  and  habits  of  Henry  Flamstead 
for  the  wondering  of  the  neighbours  how  it  would 
be  with  the  management  of  the  estate;  "  Mr. 
Henry,"  said  they,  "  is  no  farmer ;  he  is  no  man  of 
business ;  he  will  probably  let  the  property  and  go 
and  live  somewhere  else." 

But  Henry  Flamstead  had  more  strength  of  cha- 
racter than  of  constitution  ;  he  did  not  pretend  to  be 
his  own  farmer,  had  no  great  taste  for  it,  nor  faith  in 
his  own  skill ;  but  he  selected  a  superior  working 
man,  and  made  him  his  farmer  and  bailiff,  and  found 
it  answer  extremely  well.  He  rode  over  his  lands 
every  day,  and  conversed  with  this  man  on  all  the 
agricultural  matters.  He  shot,  and  fished,  and 
coursed  with  great  enjoyment.  Everybody  was  sur- 
prised to  see  that  not  only  did  his  affairs  go  on  well, 
but  that  he  evidently  improved  in  health  and  spirits. 
But  he  was  a  solitary  man  here  ;  h's  tastes  differed 


IB  NKW    rOKTDIfn    Or    TUB    rLAJTSTKAD*. 

much  from  those  of  his  neighbours.  He  was  nHran 
kind  and  affable  with  them,  but  be  want.. I  other 
society,  and  tliis  he  used  to  leek  very  much  among 

bis    in. .liar's   relatives  in   Derby,   and    the  following 

spring  he  suddenly  surprised  the  who). •  of  Dainsby 
by  bringing  home,  as  bis  wife,  a  fair  lady,  one  of  his 
own  cousins.  This  lady,  who  was  as  near  as  possible 
of  his  own  age^  was  a  lively,  snany.lookhag  woman, 
who  seemed  to  have  no  other  object  of  admiration  or 
of  Bmbition  bat  her  hnaband.  Sl)e  was  s  fair,  blue- 
eyed,  bappy-lopking  creature,  thai  made  a  sunshine 

in  the  house,  and,  indeed,  soon  throughout  the  whole 
Tillage.     .Many   s.id    that    Mr.   Henry,  who  was  a 
man  that  might  have  picked  and   chosen  anywhere 
amongst  the  ladies  of  the  county,   had   not  shown 
much  wordly  wisdom   by  selecting  his  pretty  cousin 
who    had     no   fortune;    hut    those   who     saw    Mrs. 
Flamstead    with   the   eyes  of  true  discernment,  saw 
that  she  was  one  of  the  pearls  of  great   price   that 
Solomon  speaks  of.      Perhaps  she   was  a  little  too 
much  like  her  husband  in  tone  of  mind,  a  little  too 
gentle  and   soft ;  perhaps  some  one  of  more  energy 
and    will  had   heen  hetter  ;  hut  it  might   be  that  a 
change  after  all  would  not  have  been  more  blessed  in 
its  results.     Henry  had  brought  genuine  sunshine- 
heart  and  soul  sunshine  int..  his  house  which  rilled 
and  irradiated  every  room  of  it  with  a  feeling  of  love 
and  peace  ;  and  instead  of  that  he  might  have  had,  as 
was  &iid,  more  energy   and  will    Lithe  shape  of  a 
— tempest. 

As  it  was,  time  rolled  on  blissfully.  Henry 
Flamstead  saw  almost  every  year  a  fresh  chubby 
eherub  on  his  hearth.  There  grew  up  in  this  beautiful 
sunshine  a  sound  of  laughter,  a  hum  as  of  bees,  a 
singing  si  of  larks  aud  throstles,  aud  if  we  could  but 


NEW    FORTUNES   OF    THE    FLAMSTEAI>S.  6S 

have  looked  into  the  breakfast-room  of  Dainsby  Old 
Hall  some  fine  May  morning,  Ave  should  have  seen 
one  of  the  most  delightful  scenes  of  mortal  happiness 
that  the  rolling  earth  could  show  us.  There  sat  the 
lively,  sunny  mother  on  one  side  of  the  table  ;  there, 
on  the  other,  the  happy  and  gay  father,  and  all 
round  on  either  hand  such  a  troop  of  sunny,  rosy, 
chatting  children,  as  might  well  make  the  parents 
look  so  bright  and  benignant,  and  feel  that  heaven 
really  did  begin  on  earth.  There  you  would  have 
probably  seen  the  windows  open,  and  have  perceived 
from  the  sunny  garden  the  odorous  breath  of  flowers 
come  stealing  in  warm  as  if  mixed  with  sunbeams, 
and  the  chirp  of  sparrows,  and  the  sonorous  cawing 
of  rooks  in  the  lofty  new-leaved  elms,  till  Dainsby 
Old  Hall  was  not  full  of  life  and  joy  within  only,  but 
without  also.  Oh  !  how  much  do  the  evidences  of 
life  and  gladness  go  together !  Can  the  bird  sing, 
and  the  flowers  breathy  forth  sweetness,  and  the  very 
rooks  caw  with  lustiness  and  joy  around  the  dwellings 
of  care  and  of  guilt  ?  We  can  scarcely  believe  it  — 
we  can  scarcely  acknowledge  the  probability  of  such 
«  thing.  If  it  exists,  one's  ears  and  hearts  are  deaf  to 
it ;  but  when  the  music  of  existence  rings  joyously 
from  the  hoarth- stone  how  its  reverberations  seem  t© 
svaken  accordant  tones  in  the  open  air,  and  heaven 
and  earth,  sky  and  water,  seem  to  sing  together. 

But  could  we  look  again  into  this  old  breakfast 
parlour,  we  should  perceive  a  solemn  hush.  There 
is  an  air  of  gravity  on  those  beaming,  childish  faces  ; 
the  father  utters  the  expressive  words  of  thankful- 
ness and  blessing  to  which  the  very  ancestors  on  the 
walls  seem  to  listen,  and  then  again  all  is  eager  mer- 
riment. There  are  white  dresses  and  girlish  figures 
clusteri&g  around  the  mother  as  she  goes  down  the 


70  NKW    FOHTUNE8    OF    TT1K     l-LAMSTKAD*. 

long,  old  walks,  ami  betide  thoM  green  walls  of 
clipped  hut,  ami  arrows  and  balls  arc  Bying  up  in 
tin-  blue  air  fp>m  boyish  bands ;  then  are  ponies 

mounted,    and   away   with    the   father  over  held   and 

hill  ;   or  sober  voices  are  calling  to  sober  hours.  <»F 

Study.      So    fieif  un    many   days   and    many    yean — 

how  different  to  the  days  of  old  at  Dainshy. 

Hut  there  was  a  still  greater  change  in  the  life 
and  spirit  of  things  there.  Henry  Fkunstead  had 
retained  all  the  religions  feeling  of  his  early  youth, 
but  he  had  in  some  degree  forsaken  the  religion  of 
bis  ancestors.  The  Vicar  af  Dainshy  was  also  the 
Vicar  of  BrexdeU,  a  place  at  some  distance.  I  It- 
was  an  old  bachelor  and  a  sordid  one.  Once  a  wreck 
he  came  ami  performed  Divine  service  in  the  church, 
and  that  was  ail  that  his  parishioners  saw  of  him. 
This  created  gnat  discontent.  It  was  what  had 
never  occurred  before.  The  living  of  Dainshy  was 
quite  sufficient  for  the  maintenance  of  a  minis- 
ter, and  the  parsimony  of  its  incumbent  would  not 
afford  it  a  curate.  The  people  petitioned  the  vicar 
zealously  for  a  resident  curate,  and  Mr.  Henry 
Flamatead  took  the  lead.  It  was  in  vain;  and  what 
was  more,  it  only  angered  the  vicar.  The  methodista 
jiow  becoming  Btrong,  numerous,  and  active,  soon  saw 
the  vacant  field  and  Btepped  into  it.  At  hist  they 
preached  in  the  open  air  ;  no  one  invited  them  under 
a  r<>of,  and  only  the  poor  stood  and  heard  them. 
But  soon  this  gathering  of  the  poor  increased.  They 
praised  the  new  preachers  —  tiny  compared  them 
with  their  own  vicar.  Tbe  contrast  provoked 
remarks  amongst  the  formers  ;  the  discontent  grew, 
and  fust  one  and  then  another  went  out  to  hear. 
Suddenly  there  was  an  event  which  made  a  sensation 
through  the  whole  place.      Farmei  Wvstbrook  had 


NEW     FORTUNES    OF    THE    KLAMSTEADS.  7l 

offered  the  method ists  his  barn,  and  invited  the 
preachers  to  make  his  house  their  place  :>f  call.  A 
revolution  was  now  begun — a  strife,  a  convulsion,  that 
had  pretty  much  in  the  same  manner  gone  through 
almost  every  parish  in  England.  It  was  a  real  civil 
war  between  church  and  schism  ;  between  old  things 
and  opinions,  and  the  new.  The  poor  almost  with 
one  voice  and  spirit  crowded  to  the  new  banner  of 
devotion ;  the  farmers  were  arrayed  in  opposite 
ranks.  Some  even  who  had  been  loudest  against  the 
vicar  now  became  silent  for  a  time,  and  then  as  loud 
on  the  other  side.  They  were  wroth  with  the  pastor, 
but  they  were  loyal  to  the  church.  Amongst  these 
was  Henry  Flamstead.  Much  as  he  was  disgusted 
with  the  vicar,  he  had  never  anticipated  any  change 
like  this.  His  friends,  educational  and  ancestral 
opinions  and  prejudices,  leaned  all  the  other  way; 
but,  at  the  same  time,  he  was  too  liberal  and 
enlightened  to  prefer  utter  neglect  of  the  people, 
only  too  common  then  in  country  places,  to  zeal  and 
attention  to  them.  He  stood,  therefore,  long  zeal- 
ously aloof  from  this  new  movement.  He  watched 
it,  and  heard  what  was  said  for  and  against  it.  But 
at  length  when  he  heard,  particularly  in  more  genteel 
circles,  and  by  those  who  had  previously  taken  no 
pains  to  judge  for  themselves,  the  most  absurd  and 
false  stories  of  the  mcthodist  proceedings,  his  just  and 
generous  feelings  impelled  him  to  explain,  to  rectify, 
and  justify.  As  he  still  watched  the  effects  of  the 
new  proceedings,  and  saw  order,  industry,  sobriety, 
and  intelligence  taking  place  of  ignorance  and 
demoralization,  he  said,  '"there  can  be  no  mistake  here 
— there  is  no  doubt  which  of  these  two  things  to 
choose — there  can  be  no  question  whether  we  shall 
have  zealous  pastors  or  careless  ones — an  earnest,  con- 


72        Raw  raannm  of  nra  nannum, 

tented,  and  reformed  people  or  sottish  ignorance,  and 
the  ale-house  flourishing  more  than   the  bow 
worship;"  and  the  people  of  Dainsby  v..  ,  aftei 

treated  to  a  new  surprise  in  seeing  Mr.  Heury 
Flamstead  and  his  family  walk  into  the  barn,  and 
themselves  just  before  the  preacher. 
From  that  day  their  attendance  was  regular,  and 
within  three  months  the  most  substantial  leaden  oi 
the  methodisi  congregation  were  invited  one  evenin. 
to  meet  Mr.  Flamstead  at  the  Hall,  and  wen  ti 
ported  with  the  communication  of  the  fact,  that  it 
was  his  wish  to  present  them  with  a  piece  of  gTOun  I 
upon  which  to  build  a  chapel,  and  two  hundred  and 
fifty  pounds  towards  its  erection.  We  can  well 
imagine  the  sensation  which  this  news,  like  a  flash 
of  lightning,  shot  through  the  parish.  We  need  no! 
add  more  than  that  within  a  year  a  handsome  chapel 
stood  complete  in  the  midst  of  Dainsby,  and  that 
the  family  pew  of  the  Flamstcads  stood  empty  in  the 
church,  whilst  a  neat  one  near  the  pulpit  of  the 
chapel  was  duly  seen  filled  with  the  squire's  family. 

The  consequent  revolution  which  this  circum- 
stance occasioned  in  the  life  and  connections  of  -Mr. 
Flamstead  it  requires  no  great  stretch  of  imagina- 
tion to  perceive.  In  the  country  at  large  he  wi 
shunned  and  marked  man.  He  was  regarded 
traitor  to  the  established  church,  as  a  silly  enthusiast, 
as  a  weak  fanatic,  a-  a  vain,  ambitious  man,  who  pre- 
ferred to  be  at  the  head  of  a  party,  to  being  the  quiet, 
Stanch,  respectable  pillar  of  a  great  national  fabric. 
All  these  charges  and  assertions  he  had  calculated 
upon,  and  knew  how  to  bear.  He  was  Hung  for 
society  very  much  upon  the  people  of  his  own 
parish,  and  on  a  class  in  worldly  rank  far  inferior  to 
what  he  had  been  accustomed  to  mingle  with.      On 


NEW    FOKTI/NES    OP    THE    KLAMSTKAOS.  73 

the  other  hand  he  found  himself  actively  occupied 
and  hound  up  with  a  new  class  of  interests  Me  was 
placed  actually  at  the  head  of  a  new  religious  movement 
in  his  own  neighbourhood.  His  example  gave  a  fresh 
eclat  and  life  to  the  cause.  Most  of  what  he  believed 
to  be  of  eternal  importance  he  now  saw  depending 
essentially  upon  himself.  He  came  into  contact  and 
correspondence  with  the  active  movers  of  a  new  and 
great  system  ;  linked  up,  even  in  this  secluded  corner, 
with  the  vital  action  of  the  whole  world.  The 
missions  of  his  own  people,  and  the  intelligence 
which  came,  both  through  ever-arriving  new 
preachers,  and  the  "  Methodist  Magazine,"  opened  up 
a  world,  vast  and  incalculable  in  its  influences  on  man- 
kind, that  gave  a  new  impulse  and  value  to  existence. 
Time  ran  on— Henry  Flamstead,  by  the  active 
duties  that  had  devolved  on  him,  by  having  to  act 
and  think  for  others,  was,  as  every  one  saw,  become  a 
much  more  practical,  busy,  managing  character  than 
he  was  before.  He  not  only  thought  and  worked 
for  the  society,  but  he  thought  and  worked  for  his 
family.  He  had,  in  a  few  years  after  his  joining  the 
Methodist  body,  no  fewer  than  five  children  around 
his  table,  and  every  prospect  of  a  steady  increase  of 
the  number ;  this  was  another  new  feature  of  the 
Flamstead  family,  and  he  could  not,  like  his  fore- 
fathers, look  with  a  sloth-like  indifference  to  the  future 
fortunes  of  his  children.  Circumstances  not  only 
infused  new  spirit  into  him,  but  into  the  times.  The 
great  war  of  French  aggression  was  raging  all  over 
Europe.  Napoleon,  like  a  new  incarnation  of  the 
ancient  spirit  of  universal  domination,  with  the  ter- 
rific powers  of  more  truly  scientific  than  civilized 
Europe  to  work  with,  was  overrunning  the  nations, 
and  making  the  proudest  monarchs  stoop  like  slaves 

H 


74        nk\    roBTVNEii  or  m  flaiiitbaiml 

The  price  of  all  agricultural  produce  in  still  free  and 
active  England  rose  to  a  pitch  that  made  men  regard 
land  m  m  much  gold  tint  only  wanfe  Uing  op. 

It  we  ht  up  on  all  tides.     The  higher 

it  rose  iii  consequent  value  the  greater  became  the 
mania  of  its  acquisition.  Mr.  Flamstead  was  not 
exempt  from  this  contagion,  lie  found  hiscoru  Buch 
a  mine  of  wealth  that  In-  naturally  looked  out  for 
still  more  land,  not  only  as  an  investment  fur  surplus 
capital,  hut  as  a  source  of  such  brilliant  returns. 
He  bought  extensively  ;  and    from    year    to   year  as 

his   taste  for  purchase   was    universally   perceived, 

more  and  more  Was  offered  to  him  by  shrewd  and 
differently  calculating  men.  at  prices,  which  however 
exorbitant  did  not  then  appear 

By  the  time  that  some  of  his  elder  children  were 
assuming  the  forms  of  men  and  women,  Henry  Flam- 
stead  found  himself  in  possession  of  five  times  the 
extent  of  the  earth's  surface  that  had  ever  acknow- 
ledged the  ownership  of  his  family. 

If  We  were  now  to  take  another  peep  at  Dainsby 
Old  Hall  and  the  Flamstead  family,  we  should  find 
it  as  bright  and  charming  a  scene  of  human  happiness 
as  the  green  vales  of  England  could  present  to  us,  in 
all  their  woody  mazes,  or  on  all  their  sunny  slopes. 
There  were  nine  young  Flamsteads  gathered  around 
their  parents.  The  eldest  of  these  was  a  daughter, 
a  gentle  creature  much  resembling  her  father  in 
j)erson  and  character,  hearing  the  name  of  Elizabeth 
in  the  baptismal  record,  but  known  ir»  the  family 
only  by  that  of  Betsy.  The  next  was  a  son,  George, 
an  active,  light-hearted,  vigorous  youth,  in  whom  his 
father  delighted  to  find  wondrous  resemblance  to  his 
uncle,  the  Clockmaker;  and  the  third  was  another 
daughter,  a  -horter  and  merrier  crea'nre  than  her 


NEW    FORTUNES    OP    THE    FLAMSTEADS.  '6 

sister  —a  maiden  with  all  the  sunny  form  and  bright- 
heartedness  of  her  mother — the  little,  domestic  Anne. 
Nobody,  however,  would  picture  her  by  that  word — 
she  was  the  good  and  blithe  Nancy.  As  these  young 
people  will  have  presently  to  figure  in  this  family 
story,  we  give  this  brief  sketch  of  their  personalities, 
and  leave  the  younger  herd  at  present  to  their 
games  and  their  sunshine. 

Within  and  without  Dainsby  Old  Hall  had  now 
an  air  of  prosperous  joy.  Its  walls,  roof,  windows, 
and  wood-work  were  in  the  most  bright  and  perfect 
order.  New  stables  and  out-buildings  had  been 
added,  and  the  whole,  instead  of  staring  across  the 
lawn,  had  been  planted  off  by  a  screen  of  young  trees. 
Beyond  these,  if  you  penetrated,  you  soon  found 
yourself  in  an  extensive  farm-yard,  where  all  modern 
improvements,  both  in  live  stock  and  their  habitations 
and  accommodations,  were  the  most  conspicuous. 
The  fine  dairy,  the  stately  bullocks  at  straw  before 
the  great  open  doors  of  the  barn,  where  a  thrashing 
machine  was  knocking  out  the  corn  at  a  rate  that 
would  have  amazed  the  owner's  grandfather;  the 
shapely  swine,  the  broods  of  poultry,  peacocks, 
guinea-fowls,  ducks,  geese,  turkeys,  and  hens — all 
testified  to  the  reign  of  abundance.  If  it  were  winter, 
the  tall  oxen,  as  we  have  said,  were  feeding  from 
cribs  before  the  great  barn-doors,  or  were  luxuriously 
feeding  on  turnips  and  beet-root  cut  for  them  with 
ttew  and  rapid  machines.  If  it  were  summer,  what 
ci  scene  of  beauty  was  presented  by  the  sleek  and 
mottled  herds,  and  the  gay  steeds  grazing  in  the 
rich  meadows  before  the  house.  To  the  house 
itself  there  ran  a  new  carriage  road,  with  a  proud 
sweep  through  shrubbery  and  flower-bordered  wood- 
lands; and  handsome  carriages  rolled  lightly  along  it 


7C>  MM'     P0KTUNKS   Ol      rill      i  ;    .  "..     :  1    .  *•-. 

oonveying  visitors  from  neighbouring  l.in.i:i.  s,  for 
Mr.  Henrj  Plamstead  was  too  influential  and  pi 
peroua  a  m.Hi  to  be  entirely  cut,  even  Foi  hia  Metho- 
dism, especially  with  the  princely  Bum  into  which 
the  wealth  of  the  (  lockmaker  was  rolling  itsolf  for 
him  and  liis  children,  in  view.  The  family  carriage 
itself  was  rich  and  well  appointed,  and  truly  did 
handsome  and  happy  fans  beam  from  it  aa  it  passed 
along.  At  times,  too,  a  troop  of  young  horsemen 
and  horsewomen  dashed  on!  from  its  gates  and  away 
through  the  neighbouring  country,  or  came  hurrying 
iii  at  the  clamorous  tone  of  the  dinner  bell. 

Everything  Beamed  to  glide  on  at  Dainsby  Old 
Hall  in  a  joyous,  easy,  lull  and  flowing  course  ;  there 
was,  in  its  truest  sense,  peace  and  plenty  within  ita 
walls.  w>  The  rich  man  lias  many  friends,"  and  Mr. 
Henry  Flamstead  was  rich.  Around  hi*  table  were 
frequently  assembled  the  most  cordial  and  radiant 
faces  From  London,  from  many  a  part  of  the  king- 
dom, came  the  ministers  and  agents,  and  the  leading 
members  of  the  religious  body  with  which  the  family 
were  united.  Some  of  their  highest  pleasures  were 
in  their  great  religious  meetings  and  gatherings  in 
town  and  country,  and  in  the  presence  of  the  great 
men  of  the  connection. 

The  young  people  had  no  lack  of  associates  of  their 
own  age,  and  to  them,  in  this  glad  season  of  their 
existence,  life  indeed  wore  a  sunlit  face.  George  had 
finished  his  education,  and  one  of  his  most  intimate 
comrades  at  Repton  school  was  also  now  a  compara- 
tively near  neighbour,  and  an  almost  constant  guest 
in  the  family.  Robert  Nadell  was  a  solitary  person 
in  his  own  little  hamlet  of  Millbrook,  for  he  was  the 
only  child  of  a  gentleman  of  good  property  there,  and 
it  was  not  to  be  wondered  at  that  he  was  glad  to  get 


NEW    FORTUNES    OK    THE    FLAM3TEADS.  77 

away  as  often  as  possible  into  so  cheerful  and  happy  a 
scene  as  that  which  surrounded  his  old  schoolfellow. 
They  fished,  rode,  shot,  coursed  together ;  they 
worked  industriously  at  the  various  mechanical 
labours  of  turning,  joinering,  and  even  wagon  and 
plough -making,  of  which  George  was  passionately 
fond  He  had  actually  engaged  a  skilful  wheelwright 
and  farming-implement  maker,  and  was  daily  to  be 
found  busily  employed  in  the  shop,  working  away 
with  mallet  and  chisel  as  admirably  as  any  apprentice 
in  the  trade.  Nay,  he  came  eventually  to  pride 
himself  on  being  able,  if  need  were,  to  turn  out  aa 
good  a  plough,  pair  of  harrows,  winnowing  machine, 
or  'wagon,  and  paint  them,  too,  and  then  use  them, 
as  any  man  in  England.  Here  again  his  father  saw 
the  mechanical  turn  of  his  uncle  Nicholas,  and  would 
often  say,  "  What  would  he  not  give  that  the  Clock- 
maker  could  see  George  at  his  labours." 

We  must  not,  however,  pretend  that  the  young 
Robert  Nadell  was  so  much  enamoured  of  wagon 
and  cart-making  as  of  other  objects  at  the  Hall.  My 
young  readers  would  justly  smile  at  my  want  of 
observation  if  I  did  not  at  once  tell  them  that  I  have 
long  been  aware,  from  the  moment  that  he  appeared 
upon  the  scene,  that  there  were  other  attractions  at 
Dainsby  Old  Hall,  which  drew  him  thither  so  con- 
tinually. Nay,  I  will  at  once  confess  that  George 
Flamstead  would  often  come  running  into  the  house, 
with  a  loud  cry  of  "  Robert !  Robert !  where  in  the 
world  is  that  fellow  gone  to  now  again  ?  What, 
cutting  papers  1  when  I  want  you  to  strike  with  the 
great  hammer !  Come  along,  the  wheel  is  ready  to 
be  tired,  and  here  you  are !" 

Robert.  in  fact,  soon  became  the  declared  and  the 
accepted  lo     t  of  Miss  Flamstead,  and  as  George  and 

h  2 


78  A    CLOfD    ON    TIIK    KINSIIINK. 

he  had  Long  seemed  more  like  brothers  than  friends, 
Robert  seemed  now  to  become  really  the  brotlu  r  of  the 
whole  young  group,  and  one  of  the  family.  There 
was  scarcel)  a  day  that  be  vraa  not  there,  and  in  all 
their  rides  and  walks,  their  amusements,  and  tlieii 
serious  and  religious  occupations  and  engagements, 
he  was  seen  taking  part.  Time  rolled  on  gallantly 
at  Dainsby Old  Hall;  it  waa, indeed,  oneof'he  most 
perfect  of  earth's  paradises.  Youth,  rejoicing  in 
innocence  and  love,  ami  the  daily  course  of  life- 
filled  up  with  duties  that  gave  peace  to  the  heart, 
and  bound  it  up  in  sympathy  with  the  interests  of 
men. 

CHAPTER  VII. 

A  CLOUD  ON  TIIK  SL'NSIII.m:. 

Unstable  and  precarious  as  is  human  prosperity, 
that  of  the  Flamateads  appeared  to  most  eyes  ;is  likely 
to  endure  as  that  of  any  mortal  lot  whatever.  Then 
was  so  much  property,  so  much  virtue,  so  much 
domestic  affection,  as  well  as  apparent  health.  Vet 
the  Flamsteads  were  not  exempt  from  their  quota  of 
enemies  and  croakers  ;  there  were  those  who  were 
fond  of  comparing  Henry  with  his  ancestors,  and 
commenting  on  the  difference.  The  Bimple  old 
folks,  how  homely,  how  careful,  how  plodding  they 
had  heen.  There  was  a  pretty  change  here. 
This  Mr.  Henry  Flamstead,  why,  he  was  quite  a  fine 
delicate  gentleman — his  own  fathers  would  not  havo 
known  him.  They  used  to  trudge  a'lout  over  their 
l  elds,  and  after  their  ploughmen.  He  « .  nt  jaunting 
>  n  a  fine  horse— they  used  to  stop  a  gap  or  dig  a 
[  ost-hole,  if  necessary,  with  their  own  hands;  ho 
v\ould  not  soil  his  fingers  with  his  native  earth, but 


A    CLOUD    ON    THK    SUNSHINE.  79 

went  about  with  gloves  on  his  hands,  as  if  it  were 
always  winter.  They  went  to  attend  at  all  fairs  and 
markets,  and  made  all  their  bargains  about  corn  and 
cattle  themselves ;  he  kept  a  bailiff  to  do  all  that. 
They  were  contented  to  drive  a  gig — and  Mr.  Henry's 
father  had  only  an  open  carriage — here  now  was  an 
open  carriage,  a  close  carriage,  and  a  pony  carriage. 
They  used  to  keep  little  company,  and  old-fashioneu 
hours,  and  spread  old-fashioned  fare  on  their  table — 
here,  who  could  tell  out  of  what  regions  all  the 
folks,  gentle  and  simple,  came.  From  the  four 
winds,  nay,  from  forty  winds,  did  they  seem  to  blow 
together.  Gentry,  preachers — heaven  could  tell  who 
or  what  they  were,  but  never  was  there  a  week,  and 
often  not  a  day,  but  somebody  was  posting  up  to  the 
Hall.  Well,  well !  it  used  to  be  said  that  "  a  penny 
saved  is  a  penny  got,"  and  that  "  many  birds  picking 
at  the  barn-door  would  soon  bring  ninepence  to  a 
groat ;"  but  here,  if  people  could  believe  their  eyes, 
all  the  old  maxims  were  proved  to  be  nonsense,  for  the 
more  there  was  spent,  the  more  there  was  left  behind. 
"  Time  would  show,"  added  they,  however,  with  a 
sort  of  self-consolatory  reflection  and  a  knowing  nod. 

Others,  again,  when  it  was  remarked  what  a  vast 
quantity  of  land  Mr.  Flamstead  had  bought,  asked  if 
they  knew  as  certainly  that  it  was  all  paid  for;  or  if 
paid  for  to  the  seller,  as  was  generally  said  to  be  the 
case,  whether  there  might  not  be  heavy  mortgages  lying 
on  it.  If  the  old  Flamsteads  had  not  laid  up  an 
unknown  hoard,  this  must  be  the  case.  Many 
inquiries  were  made  on  this  head,  and  yet  nothing 
could  be  discovered.  Joy  and  plenty  sat  on  the 
towei-s  of  Dainsby  Old  Hall  and  the  curious  won- 
dered, and  the  pious  saw  it  as  the  blessing  of  God. 

The  mystery,  however,  which  the  simple  people 


80  A    CLOUD    ON    THE    IDW1HW. 

of  Dainsby  could  not  dear  up,  I  can,  and  now  will 
There  u-rrr  heavy  mortj  the  newly-purchased 

lands.     Mr.  Henry  Flamstead  was  but  one  ami 
a  most  extensive  class,  who  saw.  in  the  high  value 
given  to  landed  produce  by  the  war,  a  means  offered, 
and  which  once  gone  could  never  recur,  of  making  a 
it  increase  to  their  i  The  extra  proceeds 

of  their  (-fates,  at  a  moderate  calculation,  would,  in 
twenty  years  at  least,  double  them.     The  firm  dera- 
tion, the  extensive  conquests,  the  active  arrangements 
of  Napoleon,  coupled  with  his  unparalleled  military 
genius,  seemed  to  their  imaginations   to  present  a 
prospect  of  the  continuance  of  this  state   of  things, 
when  the  determined  resistance  of  Great  Britain  was 
taken   into  the  account,   to  which  no  man  could  set  ;l 
precise   termination.      Under  this  impression,  as   1 
have  said,  great  and  numerous  purchases  were  made, 
and   money  taken   up  upon   them,  which    was  to   be 
annually  paid  oil'  by  instalments,  and  the  most  con- 
fident certainty  was  entertained  that  ten  or  more  years, 
according  to   the  amount  of  produce,  would   see  all 
debt  cleared  off,  and  the  family  prosperity  thus  mag- 
nificently augmented. 

I  n fortunately  for  numbers  of  these  sanguine  specu- 
lators. Providence  had  set  a  nearer  humid  to  the 
bloody  course  of  Napoleon  than  the  shrewdest  politi- 
cian could  prognosticate;  the  soaring  spirit  of  pre- 
sumption, puffed  up  by  unparalleled  raccess,  was  to 
find,  not  from  the  hand  of  man,  hut  from  the  right 
arm  of  the  Almighty,  wrapped  in  the  tempests 
and  the  frozen  terrors  of  the  north,  its  first  ami  effec- 
tual cheek.  At  the  Bublime  signal  of  Heaven,  the 
nations  rose  in  countless  legions;  the  Cossacks,  and 
the  very  Tartars,  came  sweeping  down  from  the  wall 
yf  China ;  and,  like  the  locusts  from  the  East,  covered 


A    CLOUD    ON    THK    SUNSHINE.  81 

the  face  of  the  earth,  and  chased  the  discomfited 
Emperor  to  his  own  imperial  city,  and  into  the 
victorious  power  of  England.  At  once  peace  returned ; 
all  Europe  felt  a  sudden  revulsion,  as  from  the  excite- 
ment of  delirium  to  the  stupor  of  temporary  inanition. 
Ail  the  towering  schemes  and  prices  incident  on  this 
great  and  unnatural  war  toppled  down,  and  buried 
such  speculators  as  Henry  Flamstead  by  thousands 
in  their  ruins.  Before  the  artificial  breakwater  of 
the  corn  bill  could  be  cast  up  against  the  refluent  tide 
of  prices  and  circumstances,  the  ruin  of  numbers  was 
complete.  The  fall  in  the  price  of  land  was  so  great, 
that  in  many  instances  that  which  was  bought  was 
not  only  lost,  but  it  swallowed  up  that  which  the 
possessor  had  before.  How  many  families  can  yet 
testify  with  sorrow,  and  from  the  deaths  of  irremedi- 
able poverty,  to  these  facts. 

Mr.  Flamstead's  purchases,  extensive  as  they  were, 
did  not,  however,  necessarily  involve  anything  like 
ruin.  Had  he  had  no  expectations,  he  must  have 
been  compelled  to  let  all  his  possessions  go,  and  to 
have  encumbered  his  original  estate  considerably  to 
have  discharged  the  still  surplus  debt  upon  it,  but 
then  there  was  the  rapidly  accumulating  property  of 
the  Clockmaker,  which,  from  that  time,  in  twenty 
3*ears,  must,  if  no  claimant  from  the  vanished  owner 
appeared,  which  now  seemed  totally  improbable,  tall 
in  and  discharge  everything,  and  leave  also  a  hand- 
some addition  to  his  wealth.  This  he  was  able  to 
shew  to  his  creditors,  and  so  reasonable  did  it  appear, 
that  they  were  for  the  most  part  ready  to  leave  theii 
mortgages  as  they  were,  in  reliance  on  a  statement 
which  he  laid  before  them,  by  which  it  appeared  that 
by  a  system  of  rigid  economy,  and  by  other  plans,  he 
could,  in  the  meantime,  manage  to  defray  the  annual 


ItJ  a    ci  ui  ||    us     i  in     m  KSHINB. 

interest.  It  was  evident,  indeed,  that  a  most  radical 
change  must  take  place  in  the  whole  mode  of  life, 
views,  ami  occupations  "f  tin-  Plamstead  family. 
The  carriage  must  be  laid  down ;  all  unnecessary 
hones  be  disposed  of;  a  Bimple  ami  strict  plan  of 
housekeeping  must  be  adopted,  and  strictly  adhered 
to;  and  that  liberal  hospitality  which  had  made 
Dainsby  Old  Hall  the  genial  ami  happy  resort  of  so 
many,  must  receive  a  check  as  frosty  ami  repugnant  to 

the  dispositions  ofthe  Owners,  as  that  of  tin-  frosts  and 

snows  of  Russia  had  been  to  Napoleon.  All  these  things, 
however,  under  a  sense  of  duty,  ami  an  animating 

hope  that  sneee.  s  would  eventually  crown  their  exer- 
tions, sanctify  their  sacrifices,  and  make  all  in  tlio 
end  well,  were  most  cheerfully  home  hv  every  mem- 
her  of  the  family  ;  and  this,  and  the  sound  unity  and 
strong  affection  of  the  whole  kindred  group,  made 
them  treat  with  indifference  the  outward  coldness 
which  always  follows  the  overcloudingofthe  Bunof for- 
tune, and  the  ill-natured  sneers  which  the  envious  shot 
about  like  burning  arrows  at  the  bared  heads  that 
were  left  exposed  by  evil  chance  to  their  assaults. 

There  was  a  shadow,  a  gloom,  but  not  a  darkness; 
a  hush,  but  not  a  horror,  fallen  on  Dainsby  Old  Hall, 
and  well  would  it  have  been  if  this  state  of  things  had 
remained  ;  but  it  is  rare  when  so  great  a  shaking 
comes  on  a  house  if  it  do  not  continue  to  crack,  its 
foundations  to  give  way,  and  its  walls  to  open  wider 
chasms,  threatening  even  total  ruin.  It  was  soon 
found  to  be  the  case  here,  and  as  is  usually  the  fact, 
the  further  mischief  came  from  a  quarter  where 
there  was  the  least  apparent  adverse  momentum! 

Amongst  the  creditors  of  Mr.  Henry  Flamstead, 
there  were  two  from  whom  he  had,  borrowed  a  joint 
sum  on  his  note  of  five  hundred   ponnds.     The  sum 


A    CLOUD    OX    THE    SUNSHINE.  83 

was  so  small,  that  it  was  not  deemed  of  sufficient 
importance  to  secure  it  by  mortgage.  It  was,  indeed 
such  a  sum  as  Mr.  FLimstead  held  himself  qualified 
to  pay  off  at  any  short  notice,  and  had  taken  it  on  that 
condition.  The  owners  of  this  sum  were  two  men 
who  were  closely  connected  by  marriage,  they  had 
in  fact  married  two  sisters,  and  they  were  as  closely 
connected  in  trade.  They  were  from  the  neighbouring 
town  of  Belper  ;  the  one  a  frame-smith,  the  other  a 
sinker-maker.  These  terms  are  probably  sufficiently 
obscure  to  the  general  reader  to  require  some  expla- 
nation, as  they  are  of  local  existence.  The  frame- 
smith  is  the  smith  who  makes  the  stocking-loom  or 
frame,  as  it  is  called  where  it  is  mostly  used,  in 
Derbyshire,  Nottinghamshire,  and  Leicestershire. 
The  sinker-maker  is  the  maker  of  the  sinkers  or 
strips  of  iron  belonging  to  the  machinery  of  the  frame, 
and  which  derive  their  name  from  sinking  down  upon 
the  woof  and  pressing  it  into  its  proper  place.  So 
little  is  known  even  of  the  existence  of  such  a  trade 
in  other  parts  of  the  country,  that  some  years  ago  a 
Conservative  paper  in  Liverpool,  describing  some 
radical  political  procession  at  Nottingham,  which  it 
did  in  sufficiently  depreciatory  terms,  added,  "  And 
there  were  sinker-makers,  too,  a  kind  of  fellows  whose 
business  we  do  not  understand,  but  which  the  very 
name  indicates  to  be  among  the  lowest  of  the  low." 

Now  though  the  business  of  a  sinker-maker  has 
nothing  necessarily  in  it  to  cause  its  practisers  to  be 
the  "  lowest  of  the  low,"  yet  it  so  happened  that  the 
sinker-maker  who  was  a  joint  proprietor  of  this  five 
hundred  pounds  might  without  any  outrage  on  justice 
have  been  classed  in  that  category.  His  name  was 
Ned  Stocks,  and  that  of  his  friend  and  brother-in-law, 
the  framesmith,  Peter  Snape.     Ned  Stocks  and  Peter 


04  a   01/01  .'   OH    Tin:   II  nmiine. 

Bnape  were  bo  much  of  a  genua,  and  so  much  im- 
pressed by  the  same  operating  causes  with  the  like 
qualities  and  character,  that  there  could  l><  no  need 
under  any   circumstances  t>>  attempt   a  distinction 

hot  ween  them.      They  were,  in  fact,  in  almost  every 

particular,  inseparable.  They  were  of  the  same  Of 
of  marly  the  same  age,  about  fifty  ;  they  had  a  con- 
siderable  personal  resemblance,  and  were  so  ever- 
lastingly  together  that  they  had  often  been  taken  for 

twins.  They  did  not  indeed  live  in  one  house,  hut 
they  lived  in  two  close  adjoining  ones,  and  their  shops 
lay  behind  their  houses,  and  wore  only  divided  by 
the  road  into  their  gardens,  which  gardens  again  were 
only  separated  by  a  common  waik.  They  were  men 
who  had  gone  on  from  youth  hammering  and  filing 
away  amid  heaps  of  iron  and  smithy-slag,  and  never 
were  clean  except  on  a  Sunday,  or  when  they  went 
out  on  business,  when  they  washed  their  hands  and 
faces,  leaving  there  a  clearly  defined  boundary  line 
of  the  old  accumulation  of  smoke  and  iron-smut 
under  their  hair,  ears,  and  in  the  hollows  of  their 
eyes.  Nay,  their  whole  skins  were  saturated  with  smut, 
so  that  it  gave  them  what  might  truly  be  called  dark 
complexions  ;  and  the  same  sombre  sadness  was  in- 
corporated into  what  they  put  on  as  their  best  or 
worky-day  garments. 

Good  workmen  were  Ned  and  Peter,  but  that  was 
the  only  point  in  which  good  could  be  applied  to 
them.  They  were,  in  truth,  two  of  the  most  thorough- 
bred grubs  that  ever  crawled  on  the  earth.  Nay,  the 
term  grub  does  not  suit  them  ;  it  has  something  soft 
about  it,  and  Ned  Stocks  and  Peter  Snape  had 
nothing  soft,  not  even  their  flesh.  That  was  made, 
as  it  were,  of  iron  wire,  and  their  hearts  might  be 
supposed  to  be  compounded  of  iron  weights  ;  they  were 


A    CLOt'D    ON    THE    SUNSHINE.  8fi 

hard,  hard,  hard,  from  top  to  toe,  from  skin  to  centre, 
as  their  own  bars  of  steel.  They  were  harder,  for 
they  could  shape  and  weld  the  bars — the  bars,  it 
might  be  believed,  could  never  make  any  impression 
on  them,  not  even  to  break  their  heads,  for  these 
seemed  like  Goliath's,  as  described  by  Thomas 
Ellwood; 

"  Upon  his  head  a  pot  of  brass  he  wore." 

.  Their  very  ideas  were  hard  and  metallic,  and  moved 
in  straight  lines,  like  steam-engines  on  iron  roads, 
but  not  so  fast.  They  had  grvibbed  on  for  nearly 
thirty  years  together  in  their  trade,  and  had  no  living 
sentiment  but  to  make  money  and  put  it  out  to 
interest.  So  gross  and  overpowering  was  this  feeling, 
that  it  had,  in  reality,  certainly  cramped  and  con- 
tracted the  way  of  their  own  fortune,  for  they  scraped 
together  every  penny  they  could  to  put  it  out,  and 
left  themselves  only  just  enough  to  keep  their  trade 
going  in  a  very  small  way ;  and  they  took  long  credit 
for  themselves  that  they  might  have  the  cash  which 
ought  to  have  paid  their  debts,  out  at  interest. 

Such  were  the  two  hopeful  creditors  of  Henry 
Flamstead,  who,  when  every  enlightened  man  was 
satisfied  with  his  statement,  remained  dissatisfied. 
They  had  taken  alarm ;  the  country  was  in  a  state 
of  alarm ;  there  were  every  day  the  most  awful 
details  in  the  newspapers  of  bankruptcies,  and  sales  of 
estates  for  debt,  and  they  had  but  one  idea  of  safety 
— that  was  to  see  with  their  own  eyes,  and  handle 
with  their  own  hands — their  money. 

Accordingly  it  was  not  many  days  after  Mr.  Henry 
Flamstead  had  requested  a  private  interview  with 
his  creditors,  and  of  Ned  and  Peter  among  them, 
when  those  two  worthies  again  appeared  at  the  Hall, 
and  said  that  they  had  taken  second  thoughts, and  they 

I 


OG  A    CLOUD    ON    INK    si   ■siHMf. 

wci..t;|  prefer  having  the  money.  The  truth  was, 
this  had  been  their  first  and  their  only  thought,  hut 
they  liail  j i ■ » t  dared  to  utter  it  in  tin-  pn  ■  nee  <>f  so 
many  great  and  respectable  gentlemen,  for  tl 
sordid  reptiles,  though  the  very  thunder  i  f  heaven 
would  not  be  able  to  turn  them  out  of  their  own 
ignorant  and  obstinate  track,  had  yet  a  slavish  fear 
of  intelligent  and  higher  minds ;  or  they  had  feared 
that  had  they  expressed  any  dissatisfaction,  thai 
feeling  might  have  Bpread,  all  might  become  as  jealous 
as  they  were,  that  someone  might  be  helped  before 
them,  and  then  there  would  tie  a  scramble,  and  in  the 
scramble  a  n  nding,  and  they  might  all  come  in  only 
for  a  fragment.  True,  therefore,  to  the  selfish  instinct 
they  went  away  in  silence,  and  now  returned  in 
silence,  and  would  he  glad  to  have  their  money. 

Mr.  FlamBtead  told  them  that  if  the  v  insisted  upon 
it,  they  should  have  it;  but  as*  they  knew  the  state  of  the 
money  market,  they  were  aware  that  he  could  not  at 
once  command  even  that  sum,  except  on  most  extra- 
vagant  conditions,  and  conditions  therefore  evidently 
detrimental  to  the  securities  on  the  estate  of  the  other 
parties.  They  must  therefore  wait  till  the  time 
required  by  their  note — six  months  after  notice. 

As  ignorant  of  all  forms  of  business  as  they  were 

greedy,  they  sail — "Nay,  hut  they  must  have  it  at 
once.  The  circumstances,"  said  they,  "  made  them 
uneasy,  and  justified  their  demanding  it  at  once." 
Mr.  Flamstead  steadily  resisted  this — he  bad  in  fact  no 
means  of  doing  otherwise,  but  offered,  it'  they  were 
at  all  anxious  as  to  the  nature  of  the  security,  to  give 
them  a  mortgage  on  lands  probably  clear. 

This,  however,  did  not  at  all  meet  their  views. 
They  declared  that  they  did  not  pretend  to  know 
what  was  clear  and  what  was  not ;  they  only  knew 


A    CLOUD    ON    THE    SUNSHINE.  87 

that  a  deal  of  money  was  owing  on  the  estate,  and  foi 
ought  they  knew,  more  than  it  was  worth.  They 
seemed  to  catch  additional  alarm  at  the  offer  of  a 
mortgage,  as  if  it  were  only  another  means  of  binding 
them  fast  to  the  estate  and  the  general  case.  They 
feared  in  their  own  minds  that  every  man,  like 
them,  was  only  pretending  on  the  day  of  meeting  to  be 
satisfied,  in  order  secretly  to  pounce  on  the  property 
and  be  served  before  the  rest ;  they  had  therefore 
but  one  cuckoo  note — "  We  mun  ha'  our  money  !  " 

Mr.  Flamstead  saw  himself  suddenly  placed  by 
these  stupid  and  pig-headed  fellows  in  a  very  delicate 
situation.  If  he  made  an  effort  and  paid  off  these 
men,  it  would  be  trumpeted  abroad,  and  the  conse- 
quences, in  the  feverish  state  of  the  times,  might  be 
a  general  panic  amongst  his  more  heavily  implicated 
creditors,  and  bankruptcy  and  total  ruin  be  the  result. 
If  he  refused  them  there  was  equal  danger  to  be 
apprehended  from  their  clamorous  discontent.  He 
therefore  took  a  middle  course,  and  proceeded  to 
consult  his  attorney,  and  be  advised  by  him  whether 
to  pay  at  an  early  day,  or  at  the  end  of  the  six 
months.  But  it  was  easier,  difficult  as  that  was,  to 
make  up  his  own  mind,  than  to  get  rid  of  these  two 
leeches.  They  still  sat  doggedly  in  their  chairs,  say- 
ing that  they  would  not  go  without  their  money. 
They  remained  there  hours,  spite  of  Mr.  Flamstead 
telling  them  that  he  had  not  that  sum  of  money  in 
the  house,  and  that  he  could  not  make  money,  and 
that  it  was  therefore  impossible  that  they  could  then 
and  there  receive  it.  On  this  Peter  Snape  gave  a 
ghastly  smile,  and  attempted  the  perpetration  of  a 
witticism. 

"  One  would  ha'  thought,"  said  he, "  that  yo  could 
ha'  made  munny  welly  a  while  ago,  yo  seemed  tc 


fl8  a  ci.orn  ON    i  in    ki  vkhu  i 

swell  out  into  mhIi  grander.     Yo  did  it  randy  ;  and 
dow  it  cornea  t'  th'  pinch,  yo  canna  pay  ;i  poor  body 

a  ] five  hundred.     Well,  well,  we  mm.  tea  what's 

to  be  done." 

With  thifl  they  dowly  withdrew,  looking  round 
them  when  they  reached  tin'  lawn,  as  if  they  were 
actually  afraid  that  not  only  Mr.  Flainstead,  hut 
DainsbyOid  Hill,  might  run  away  as  soon  as  their 
hacks  were  turned. 

Dreadful  was  the  night  which  Henry  Flamstcad 
did  not  sleep,  hut  toss  through,  after  the  departure 
of  these  iron-souled  fellows.  He  saw  in  perspective 
the  degradations  and  difficulties  which  he  might  pos- 
sihlv  hive  to  go  through.  To  he  thus  cramped  ami 
tortured  for  live  hundred  pounds!  Why,  the  T«y 
minerals  under  his  estate  were  worth  twenty  thousand. 
He  arose  early  and  rode  off  to  his  attorney.  His 
advice  was  to  soothe  the  men.  He  knew  them  well, 
he  said,  and  could  assure  him  that,  not  all  the 
eloquence  of  Chatham  would  have  the  slightest 
power  of  persuasion  to  delay  them.  They  were 
banded  together  like  night  and  darkness — like  death 
and  sin;  their  only  feeling  or  conception  was,  that 
they  wanted  their  money,  and  they  would  have  it. 
He  advised,  therefore,  to  write  to  them  and  say  that 

at  the  earliest  possible  day  they  should  be  paid  oil'. 

It  is  difficult  to  say  what  advice  in  this  ease  would 
have  hern  the  best  Nothing  lint  paying  the  money 
could  remove  the  difficulty,  and  under  the  circum- 
stances of  the  general  lack  of  confidence  in  the 
country,  that  was  a  greater  difficulty  than  all.  The 
letter  which,  on  Ins  own  suggestion,  the  attorney 
wrote,  was,  however,  most  disastrous.  The  two 
ravenous  men  appeared  again  the  very  next  day  at 
the  Hall;  that,  in  their  mind,  was  the  earliest  pos- 


A   CLOUD    ON    THE    SUNSHINE  89 

table  day,  and  they  were  as  doggedly  insolent,  and 
importunate,  and  immoveable,  as  before.  They  took 
no  notice  of  Mr.  Flarastead's  explanations,  that 
the  earliest  possible  day,  in  a  case  and  in  times  Uke 
this,  might  be  considered  in  a  few  weeks  or  a  month. 
At  that  they  only  looked  at  one  another,  and  then 
6aid,  "  It  does  na'  sinnify,  Mester  Flamstead,  we  mua 
ha'  our  munny.  Yo  seem  to  ha'  famous  things  here," 
looking  around  the  room,  "  why  dunna  yo  ca'  a  sale, 
and  sell  some  on  'em  and  pay  yo'r  way  ?  " 

Henry  Flamstead  could  not,  wrung  as  his  heart 
was,  resist  a  smile  at  this,  and  he  quietly  observed, 
thai  it  was  not  quite  so  bad  as  that  yet.  He  had  to 
endure  their  presence  and  their  low  drawling  inso- 
lence for  five  mortal  hours.  To  turn  them  out  was, 
he  knew,  not  be  ventured  on,  unless  the  casli  was 
ready  to  pay  down  the  next  day.  So  here  he  sat, 
begging  them  to  take  his  word,  and  to  withdraw 
for  the  present,  as  he  had  family  matters  to  attend  to. 

"  Take  his  word !  how  were  they  to  take  his 
word  V  they  asked  ;  "  had  they  not  taken  him  at  his 
word,  and  come  there  on  his  promise  to  pay  them  at 
the  earliest  possible  day  ?  " 

They  took  the  base  opportunity  when  a  servant 
came  into  the  room  on  business,  to  raise  their  voices, 
and  to  say  more  loudly  than  ever,  "  We  wanten  our 
munny  ! — we  mini  ha'  our  munny  !  " 

It  was  very  difficult  with  Henry  Flamstead  to 
preserve  his  patience  with  these  men — there  was 
another  person  to  who.  '  it  was  more  so  —  his  son 
George,  who,  coming  into  the  house  while  they  were 
there,  found  his  mother  weeping,  and  his  sisters, 
Betsy  and  Nancy,  in  a  state  of  great  excitement.  To 
his  questions  as  to  the  cause,  the  little  impetuous 
Nancy  gave  answer  in  the  most  indignant  terms,  and 

i2 


90  i  0LOUD  ON  Till     IUNBH1 

George  catching  the  generous  and  contagious  fire  of  his 
sister's  seal,  ova*  what  she  called  "  this  shameful, 
this  most  detestable  treatment  of  her  father,"  declared, 
whilst  all  the  blood  in  his  body  Memad  to  mount 
Into  his  face,  "That  be  would  go  in  and  pitch  those 
two  miserable  old  codgers  to  Jericho  '.  " 

Fortunately  bia  father  met  him  in  the  hall,  and 
Beeing  his  state  of  excitement,  took  him  by  the  arm 
into  another  room,  and  told  him  that  he  felt  ami 
appreciated  his  affectionate  sympathy,  but  he  must 
now  call  upon  him  to  show  not  only  sympathy,  but  a 
wise  prudence.  One  rash  action,  he  represented  to 
him,  would  now  assuredly  plunge  them  all  into  iucon- 
ceivable  difficulties  and  distress. 

George  at  once  declared  that  he  saw  it.  ami  would 
restrain  himself.  lit;  put  Buch  compulsion  on  him- 
self, that  he  went  in  and  tola  the  men  that  his  father 
had  to  attend  to  some  unavoidahle  business,  and  was 
therefore  obliged  to  leave  them  ;  he  could  not  scf 
them  again  that  day,  but  that  he  was  sure  that,  his 
father's  attorney  would,  in  as  little  time  as  possible, 
arrange  for  the  payment  of  the  money.  This  intelli- 
gence Ned  and  Peter  received  with  a  simultaneous 
grunt,  like  two  old  wild  boars.  They  departed  without 
a  word,  buf  with  significant  glances  at  each  other,  and 
the  next  day  brought  a  new  personage  on  the  scene. 

This  personage  was  Mr.  Screw  Pepper,  an  attorney 
of  Derby.  Mr.  Screw  Pepper  was  one  of  a  very 
large  class  of  attorneys.  He  wa-'  a  man  who  had  the 
reputation  of  being  a  despc  ,c  clever  fellow,  and  as 
being  pre-eminently  a  man  of  sharp  practice.  He 
had  been  the  son  of  a  hostler  who  was  accustomed  to 
bring  up  a  gig  from  some  livery  stables,  for  a  lawyer 
who  regularly  bad  it  thence,  and  who,  when  the  gig, 
as  was  often  the  case,  had   to  wait  long  before  the 


A    Ol.liri)    UN    THE    SUNSHINE.  91 

lawyer's  door,  used  to  leave  it  in  the  care  of  his  son, 
a  great  shock-headed  lad,  who  soon  attracted  the 
lawyer's  notice  by  the  assiduousness  of  his  attentions 
in  holding  the  horse  while  he  got  in,  and  making  the 
most  profound  hows  for  the  two-pence  that  he  often 
received.  The  lawyer  soon  afterwards  wanting  a  boy 
to  sweep  out  the  office,  and  carry  out  messages, 
thought  this  the  very  lad  for  the  purpose.  In  this 
post  he  displayed  so  much  shrewdness  that  he 
eventually  was  put  upon  an  office  stool,  and  employed 
in  copying  voluminous  documents.  Here  again  his 
zeal  and  success  were  so  great  that  his  master  saw 
in  him  the  rough,  hairy  caterpillar,  out  of  which  a 
great  hawk-moth  of  an  attorney  must  certainly 
come  ;  and  looking  forward  to  his  own  ease  in  future 
years,  when  such  a  shrewd,  active,  and,  as  he  hoped, 
humbly  obsequious  partner  would  be  most  invaluable, 
he  had  him  articled,  and  Screw  Pepper  rapidly 
became  furbished  up  into  a  shabby-smart  sort 
of  a  clerk,  with  clothes  thread-bare,  and  almost 
bursting  with  bis  growing  bulk,  and  with  many  jokes 
and  insults  to  bear  from  the  more  genteel  of  his 
fellow  clerks,  but  with  a  wonderful  self-complacency, 
and  an  unbounded  show  of  reverence  for  his  master. 
He  was  accustomed  on  all  occasions  to  bold  up  the 
said  master  as  the  most  profound  lawyer,  and  only 
held  back  by  the  jealous  intrigues  of  the  profession 
from  being  actually  attorney-general.  These  praises 
were  sure  by  some  means  to  get  to  the  ears  of  the 
said  illustrious  lawyer,  and  Mr.  Screw  Pepper  stood 
in  consequent  favour  with  him.  We  need  not  pur- 
sue very  minutely  his  office  career.  He  went  through 
the  necessary  years  of  clerkship  with  the  greatest 
satisfaction  to  himself  and  employer,  who  was  so 
proud  of  his  discernment  in  the  discovery  of  such  an 


02  a  cr."i  i)  DM  Tin    si  s  -him  . 

acute  and  indefatigable  legal  g<  niua  thai  be  advance 
tin-  i  .  iiH-.m^.  and,  after  a  short  sojourn  in 

London,  Mr.  Screw  Pepper  canie  down  to  his  admiring 
friends  a  Master  Extraordinary  in  Chancery,  and 
was  'Inly  admitted  as  a  partner  in  the  nun  of  Look- 
out.  Hook,  and  Pepper. 

In  this  linn,  however,  Mr.  Screw  Pepper  proved 
only  too  active  and  clever.  He  was  far  too  clever 
fur  the  united  powers  of  observation  and  check  of 
Messrs.  Lookout  and  Hook,  and  these  were  by  no 
means  contemptible.  He  not  only  very  soon  dived 
into  all  the  arcana  of  their  practice  and  connections, 

hut  was  found  t>>  lie  availing  himself  of  them  t<>  hi.s 
own  exclusive  benefit,  in  a  manner  that  counselled 
as  speedy  a  quittance  of  him  as  possible.     On  the 

abrupt  dissolution  of  partnership  which  ensued  great 
was  the  marvel  and  the  curiosity.  Lookout  and 
Hook  answered  with  grave  and  mysterious  looks 
when  spoken  to  on  the  subject,  and  strange  stories 
to  the  disadvantage  of  Mr.  Screw  Pepper  flew  about. 
But  Mr  Screw  Pepper  looked  anything  but  cast-down 
or  mortified  by  the  change.  He  was,  on  all  occasions, 
lively,  Bmiling,  bustling,  and  displaying  a  happy 
imperturbability  to  all  the  foolish  qualities  of  shame 

and  despondence.  He  also  answered,  when  spoken 
to  on  the  subject,  with  mysterious  but  with  almost 
merry  looks;  and  as  to  those  stories  to  his  disadvan- 
tage, they  as  suddenly  dropped,  at  least  into  the 
most  confidential  whispers,  as  they  had  arisen,  for 
Mr.  Screw  Pepper  was  not  a  man  to  be  trifled  with. 

The  good  people  of  Derby  soon  saw  him  take  a 
house,  and  open  offices,  small  it  must  be  confessed, 
but,  like  himself,  with  a  smart,  aspiring  air  about 
them.  He  an<f  a  single  clerk  made  up  the  whole 
professional  force  in  these  offices,  and  there  was  but 


A    CLOUD    ON    THE    SUNSHINE.  03 

a  scanty  display  of  japanned-boxes,  bookshelves,  and 
parchment  under  operation ;  yet  Mr.  Screw  Pepper 
was  so  constantly  in  active  motion,  now  with  large- 
folded  papers  tied  with  red  tape  in  his  hand,  going  to 
and  fro  in  the  town,  and  now  setting  off  by  the  coach 
with  a  huge  great  coat  on  his  arm,  and  a  boy  carrying 
his  carpet- bag,  that  people  said  the  fellow  must  really 
find  something  to  do.  There  were,  it  is  true,  some 
of  Lookout  and  Hook's  clerks  who  declared  with 
much  merriment  at  their  evening  smoking  companies, 
that  their  governors,  Lookout  and  Hook,  had  set 
boys  to  follow  Mr.  Pepper,  and  that  they  had  found 
that  he  was  regularly  in  the  practice  of  carrying 
these  tape-tied  papers  about  the  town  for  hours  every 
day  ;  and  that  they  had  dodged  him,  after  parading 
some  of  the  main  streets,  through  the  roost  obscure 
alleys  and  yards,  till  he  reappeared  in  other  great 
streets,  without  calling  at  a  single  door.  They  pro- 
tested, too,  that  his  coach  journeys,  and  sometimes 
equally  bustling  departures  in  gigs,  were  of  equal 
importance.  They  had  traced  him  to  an  inn  on  the 
Burton  road,  where  he  had  got  down,  professing  to 
wait  for  another  coach  going  across  to  Hinckley; 
and  on  another  occasion  had  seen  him  impatiently 
inquiring  for  the  house  of  some  great  landed  pro 
prietor,  some  five  miles  off,  to  which  he  had  ostensi- 
bly set  out  to  walk,  but  had  been  traced  only  to 
a  rabbit  warren,  where  he  had  pulled  out  of  his 
pocket  a  paper  of  sandwiches  and  a  little  bottle  of 
brandy,  had  regaled  himself,  whistled  a  tune,  and 
then  strolled  back  again  in  time  for  the  afternoon 
coach,  to  which  he  bustled  up  as  if  he  had  been 
detained  by  momentous  business,  till  he  had  but  just 
been  able  to  save  the  conveyance. 

These  might,  it  is  true,  be  envious  inventions; 


04  A   CLOUD   ON    THK   tl  n-iiini I, 

one  thing  i>  certain,  that  f<r  some  time  only  the 
lowest  and  most  simple  olaae  of  client!  wen-  seen 
entering  or  issuing  From  the  office  of  Mr,  Screw 
Pepper.  But  in  awhile  he  began  to  have  a  certain 
character  for  being  ;i  man  of  sharp  practice,  which 
means,  according  to  common  and  unprofessional 
ideas,  a  man  that  sticks  at  nothing,  but  will  under- 
take any  job,  however  foul,  and  drag  it  through  ly 
any  means.  The  local  court,  called  the  Peveril 
Court,  for  the  recovery  of  small  debts,  soon  .saw  him 
an  active  practitioner.  Any  one  who  wanted  to  com* 
pel  Borne  poor  wretch,  who  had  not  enough  to  find 
bread  for  his  children,  to  pay  some  paltry  debt, 
perhaps  not  even  a  just  one.  or  to  sec  him  turned 
from  his  wretched  home  and  flun:,'  into  a  more 
wretched  one.  the  low,  dilapidated,  and  squalid 
building  called  the  prison  of  this  court,  went  to  Mr. 
Screw  Pepper,  and  was  sure  to  have  his  thirst  of 
vengeance  satisfied,  and  was  sure  to  have  to  pay 
smartly  for  it  himself.  Let  us  take  a  case  of  this 
description  which  was  in  these  same  screwing  hands. 
The  dcht  was  thirty  shillings.  The  writ  and  other 
documents  were  served,  not  on  the  debtor,  but  on  his 
attorney,  another  man  of  like  fame  and  practice. 

The  plaintiff,  after  the  lapse  of  some  eight  or  ten 
months,  entering  the  office  of  Mr.  Pepper  to  inquire 
into  the  progress  of  this  cause,  was  received  by  him 
with  the  nmst  obstreperous  bursts  of  merriment. 

M  What  is  the  matter  i "  asked  the  plaintiff.  "  ( >li, 
capital  !  capital  !"  cried  Mr.  Pepper  ;  "  a  most  famous, 
capital  joke!" — '-Joke!  what  juke?"  asked  again 
the  plaintiff.  "  W"hy,"  replied  Mr.  Screw  1'epper, 
still  interrupted  by  fresh  outbreaks  of  laughter,  "  we 
have  sued  thedefi  odant,  brought  the  cause  to  trial, won 
it,  got  a  verdict,  and  then  found  that  the  defendant  has 


A    CLOUD    ON    THE    SUNSHINE.  95 

been  dead  and  buried  these  six  months!  ha!  ha!  ha!" 
— '•  And  do  you  think  that  a  joke  ?  " — "  Oh,  a  capital 
joke,  to  sue,  and  get  a  verdict  against  a  dead  man ! 
ha!   ha!  ha!— ha!  ha!  ha!" 

Tt.e  plaintiff,  who  began  to  feel  that  what  was  a 
joke  to  Mr.  Screw  Pepper,  would  be  no  joke  to  him- 
self,  upbraided  Mr.  Pepper  for  not  taking  better  care 
to  know  whether  the  man  were  alive  or  not. 

"  Oh,  I  assure  you,  all  is  quite  regular,  quite 
regular.  We  served  the  documents  on  the  defen- 
dant's attorney,  and  he  always  replied,  '  All  right !  all 
right !'  "— "  But  what  effects  had  the  man?"— "  Oh, 
that  is  quite  as  full  of  fun.  We  got  an  execution 
against  his  goods,  and  sold  up  the  widow,  and  have 
credited  your  account  with  the  balance  of  the  proceeds 
— one  pound  five  shillings." 

The  plaintiff  found,  indeed,  that  it  was  no  joke  to 
him  when  Mr.  Screw  Pepper's  bill  appeared — it 
being  exactly  as  many  pounds  as  the  sum  sued  for 
was  shillings — namely — thirty. 

But  we  are  not  to  suppose  that  all  Mr.  Screw  Pep- 
per's exploits  were  of  this  costly  kind  to  the  client — 
costly  they  were,  but  so  generally  to  the  other  un- 
fortunate party,  that  he  grew  gradually  into  great 
request,  even  with  persons  of  higher  stand  and  pre- 
tensions. He  was  soon  seen  with  a  smart  gig  of  his 
own,  and  a  boy  with  a  bit  of  yellow  lace,  or,  as 
envious  neighbours  called  it,  bed-lace,  round  his  hat, 
driving  him,  while  a  large  blue-stuff  bag  was  sure  to 
be  seen  orotruding  out  of  the  vehicle  somewhere.  He 
was  a  sedulous  attender  at  the  market  on  the  farmers, 
as  if  he  had  much  business  amongst  them.  Here  he 
was  very  jolly,  jocose,  smart,  and  talkative,  and  got 
the  reputation  of  a  prodigiously  clever  man,  as  sharp 
as  a  needle  with  two  points.     One  instance  of  this 


OG  A    CI.OUU    ON    THK    SINSIIlNi:. 

clever  practice  we  may  give,  u  it  nrrei  to  show  how 

he  so  rapidly  ingratiated,  himself  among  the  simple 
sons  of  the  soil. 

An  old  fanner,  as  Mr.  Screw  Pepper  was  talking 
with  him  iii  the  corn-market,  casting  scowling  looks 
at  another  not  far  off,  ohscrved,  "  Now,  there  's  a 
fellow  that  you  'd  take  by  his  looks  to  he  afl  honest  as 
the  day,  and  yet  let  me  tell  yon,  there  is  not  a  greater 
scamp  between  here  and  London.  That  villain  owes 
nie  forty  pounds,  and  the  wisest  lawyer  of  you  all 
cannot  get  it  from  him." — "Why  not?"  asked  Mr. 
Screw  Pepper,  eyeing  the  man  askance,  "why  not?" 
— "Why  not?"  replied  the  fanner,  "because  I  have  no 
evidence,  ili.it  's  why  not.  I  sold  him  ahorse  for  the 
money.  Says  he,  '  Let 's  go  in  and  take  a  pint  of  port 
on  it.'  In  we  goes,  and  then  says  he,  '  I  shall  not 
pay  you  to-day,  hut  this  day  next  week  at  market.' 
— '  Very  well,'  says  I.  But  next  market-day  comes, 
and  my  gentleman  says  not  a  word  ahout  paying  :  so 
I  ups  to  him,  and  jogging  him  on  the  elbow,  says — 
'To-day — you  recollect!' — 'To-day?  what  of  to- 
day ? '  says  he,  as  innocent  as  a  sucking  pigeon  ;  '  what 
of  to-day  ?' — '  Why,  to-day  you  promised  to  pay  for 
the  horse  !' — '  Pay  for  the  horse  !'  says  he,  as  if  all 
in  astonishment;  'what? — why  I  paid  you  there  and 
then  ! — did  the  wine  get  into  your  head  so  that  you've 
forgotten  that?'  I  was  struck  on  my  chest  as  if 
with  a  big  stone.  It  knocked  all  the  wind  out  of  me, 
for  I  saw  that  the  fellow  meant  gillery.  Long  and 
shurt — he  stuck  to  it,  and  not  a  soul  has  been  able 
t*  extract  a  doit  out  of  him." — "  Phoh  !"  said  Screw 
Pepper,  "  I  '11  get  it  for  you."—"  I  '11  tell  thee 
what,  man,"  said  the  old  farmer,  delighted  ;  "  if  thou 
gets  it,  here 's  a  ten  pound  note  for  thee — that 's  all 
I  can  say  ;  but  I  think  thou  '11  find  thy  match  there. 


A   CLOUD   ON    THE   SUNSHINE.  97 

Many  a  clever  fellow  has  had  a  try  at  him."  Mr 
Screw  Pepper  disappeared,  and,  before  the  market 
was  over,  walking  up  to  the  old  farmer,  pulled  out 
a  roll  of  papers,  and  said,  "  Look  at  these — there 's 
the  money  for  you,  however  ! "  —  "  Burn  me  ! " 
exclaimed  the  old  farmei-,  seizing  the  notes  ;  "  why 
that  never  can  be.  How  canst  ta  ha'  done  that  ?" — 
But  it  was  so,  and  Mr.  Screw  Pepper  declared  nothing 
had  been  easier  to  manage.  "  I  asked  the  man," 
said  he,  "  to  go  and  take  part  of  a  bottle  of  wine 
with  me.  In  the  course  of  conversation  we  grew 
meiry  together,  when,  poking  the  fellow  in  the  side, 
I  said,  '  Commend  me  to  you  for  a  deep  one  !  I  've 
heard  of  the  clever  trick  that  you  played  off  on 
Farmer  so  and  so.  Ha  !  ha  !  that  beats  me  hollow. 
I  could  hardly  believe  the  farmer  such  a  fool!' 
— '  Oh,'  said  the  fellow,  '  he  's  fool  enough  for  more 
than  that.  I  could  chouse  him  again  as  easy  as  this ' 
—  snapping  his  fingers.  '  You  really  did  it  then?' 
said  1,  admiringly.  '  It  really  was  true?  I  never 
thought,  it  more  than  a  feigned  joke!' — 'Did  it? 
To  be  sure  I  did!'  said  the  fellow,  off  his  guard — 
'and' — 'And  you  must  pay  the  money!'  said  I, 
seriously,  '  for  I  am  his  evidence,  and  will  arrest  you 
at  once,  if  you  do  not.'  That's  all  that  passed — 
nothing  in  the  world  could  be  simpler." 

This  anecdote  wonderfully  spread  the  fame  and 
extended  the  practice  of  Mr.  Screw  Pepper  all  through 
the  country,  and  it  was  no  longer  necessary  for  him 
to  walk  round  the  town  with  tape-tied  paper,  or  to 
take  the  coach  to  a  distant  rabbit-warren  and  seek 
practice  by  eating  sandwiches,  and  whistling  after  them 
under  the  flowery  gorse-bushes  in  May.  He  was  a 
welcome  and  merry  guest  amongst  the  farmers  on 


90  A    0LOPD    ON    Till.    II   N-1IINI-. 

Sundays,  and  his  sharp  practice  became  from  year  to 
vearmore  widely  diffused  and  known.  He  had  long 
been  the  attorney  of  Ned  Btocks  and  Peter  Bnape, 
and  to  him  they  now  betook  themselves. 

Mr.  Screw  Pepper  rubbed  his  hands  as  the  prospect 
of  this  business  opened  upon  bim.    Mr  Henry  Flam- 
stead  and  the  estate  of  Dainsby  Old  Hall !  Never  had 
such  a  goodly  prize  fallen  into  his  oet.  Never  did  he 
expect  such    a  splendid  one   from   such   clients   as 
Ned  storks  and  Peter  Snape.    When  he  had  Bounded 
the  tenths  of  the  business,  ami  had  come  to  a  full 
knowledge  of  the  meeting  of  the  creditors,  of  who  they 
were,  and  of  something  like  an  idea  of  the  extent  of 
the  cliims  on  the  estate,  he  was  hardly  able  to  con- 
tain himself,  for  he  saw  a  most  glorious  field  of  legal 
enterprise,  speculation,  and  peculation  before  him. 
He  therefore  assumed  a  very  serious  air,  and  told  his 
worthy  clients  that  it  was1  a  very   serious  husiness, 
and  that  they  had  done  quite  right  in  coming  at  ones 
to   him.      From    what   they    had    informed  him,  he 
now   informed  them    in   return,    by   the    aid   of   his 
superior  knowledge,   that   not  a  moment  was  to  be 
lost.      If  they  had  gone  begging  and  praying  for  their 
money,  dallying  between   Mr.  Flamstcad  and  that 
old  fox,  his  lawyer,  as  Mr.  Screw  Pepper  called  him, 
the  consequence  would  most  likely   have  been  that 
6ome  of  the  greater  creditors  would   have  struck  the 
docket  against  Flamstead  ;  he  would  then  have  heen 
bankrupt,  and  amid  the  mass  of  heavier  claimants 
they  would  have  heen  thrust   into  the  back-ground, 
and  probably  have  come  off,  in  the  end,  with  Hohson's 
chare,    something  less  than  nothing.     But  now.   he 
hoped  so  at  least,  they  were  the  first  in  the  field — 
they  would  seize  time  by  thr  forelock,  and  procuring 


A    CLOUD    ON    TUB    SUNSH^TE.  1)9 

a  statute  of  bankruptcy  against  their  debtor,   they 
would,  instead  of  the  last,  be  the  first  of  creditors. 

It  would  be  impossible  to  describe  the  alternate 
terror  and  eagerness  of  the  two  men,  as  Mr.  Screw 
Pepper  thus  harangued  them.  At  one  moment  they 
were  fit  to  die  with  fear  lest  some  one  else  should 
get  the  start,  and  that  they  should  have  no  weight  in 
the  matter;  at  another  they  fairly  cried  out,  "  Haste, 
haste,  Mr.  Pepper,  haste,  and  get  hold  of  the  property." 

Mr.  Screw  Pepper,  indeed,  let  no  grass  grow  under 
his  feet.  Mr.  Henry  Flamstead  scarcely  knew  that 
this  man  of  sharp  practice  was  employed  against  him, 
when  to  his  utter  consternation  and  inexpressible 
surprise  he  found  himself  a  declared  bankrupt. 
Every  exertion  was  made  by  his  attorney  to  have 
this  set  aside,  and  the  business  arranged  by  a  simple 
assignment  to  his  creditors,  and  for  the  estate  to  be 
put  in  trust  for  them  till  the  claims  upon  it  were 
liquidated,  and  which,  by  a  statement  drawn  up  by 
him,  showed  could  be  readily  done  in  at  farthest 
seven  years ;  but  Mr.  Screw  Pepper  was  far  too 
great  a  master  of  artifice  for  him.  He  represented 
the  state  of  the  times;  the  almost  nominal  value  of 
the  property  in  consequence,  and  the  very  heavy 
claims  on  this  estate.  Assignees  were  chosen  to 
manage  the  business,  and  these  were  such  as  Mr. 
Pepper  more  particularly  wished  to  work  with.  His 
representations  to  the  main  creditors  were  very 
different  to  those  which  he  made  to  the  Court  of 
Bankruptcy.  To  these  he  declared  that  everything 
depended  on  management — that  he  had  no  fear  that 
with  the  assignees  appointed  he  should  be  able  to  pay 
to  every  creditor  twenty  shillings  in  the  pound. 
These,  relying  on  his  well-known  business  powers, 
depended  very  much  upon  him,  and   the  conduct  of 


100  OAUit   DATS. 

the  affair  fill  wry  muoh  into  the  hinds  of  himself 
and  a  small  knot  of  creditors  who  were  least  likely 
to  interfere  with  his  proceedings,  amongst  whom 
were  conspicuous  Ned  Stocks  and  Peter  Bnape. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


PARK    PAYS. 

Thb  thunderbolt  of  calamity  had  fallen  «ji  Dainsby 

Old  Hall.  The  effects  of  it  who  shall  describe?  If 
we  wire  to  Bay  the  reader  can  imagine  them— it  is 
no  use  attempting  to  describe  them— the  nadir 
might  very  probably  imagine  something  very  melan- 
choly an<l"  wry  desolate,  yet  very  different  to  the 
truth.  If  we  do  attempt  to  describe  them  we  are 
not  sure  that  we  shall  in  any  adequate  degree  succeed. 

Who,  indeed,  eould  represent  the  gloom  without 
and  the  death-like  coldness  within  the  hearts  of  those 
on  whom  this  blasting  holt  had  fallen?  This,  so 
lately  happy  and  joyous  house,  that  so  lately  happy 
and  united  family.  There  was  a  silence  not  merely  in 
the  house,  hut  in  the  very  courts  and  gardens  around 
it.  The  very  cattle  scarcely  lowed  ;  the  very  birds 
seemed  to  have  been  terrified,  and  ceased  to  sing.  The 
dogs  that  used  to  meet  the  hounding  steps  of  the  young 
people  with  frantic  leaps  and  barkings,  now  silently 
wagged  their  tails,  gazed  with  a  wistful,  melancholy 
look  into  their  faces,  and  followed  them  in  silencv. 

As  to  the  family  itself,  it  seemed  that  not  merely 
misfortune  hut  sickness  bad  fallen  on  them  ;  and  in 
■uch  a  violent  shock  how  could  one  he  separated  from 
the  other?  The  mother  was  really  ill  in  bed,  the 
daughters  were  weeping  by  her  bedside  ;  George  was 
wandering  uneasily  from  place  to  place,  from  field  to 


DMIK    J>AYS.  lnl 

field,  and  Mr.  Henry  Flamstead  sat  for  days  in  his 
chair  more  like  a  ghost  than  a  living  man,  and 
heaving  such  sighs!  The  reproaches  which  he  east 
on  himself  were  bitter  beyond  description.  His  line 
old  house  and  estate,  so  substantial,  so  sufficient,  so 
clear,  and  free  from  touch  of  lawyer  and  creditor, 
and  now  assuredly  to  be  torn  in  pieces,  and  from  hbi 
and  his  for  ever,  by  such  wretches  as  Ned  Stocks  and 
Peter  Snape,  and  Screw  Pepper.  rl  ne  very  thought 
of  this  was  often  too  much  for  endurance.  Henry 
Flamstead  would  rise  up,  stride  hastily  to  and  f;o, 
strike  his  hand  on  his  forehead,  and  cursing  his 
ambitious  speculations,  drop  down  again  into  his  seat 
with  the  perspiration  streaming  from  his  face,  and 
witli  groans  of  the  deepest  misery.  "  What  would 
his  ancestors  say  to  this,  could  they  see  it  ?  What 
would  his  children  be?    Beggars,  miserable  beggars  !" 

But  Mr.  Screw  Pepper  did  not  leave  Henry  Flam- 
stead too  much  time  to  agonise  himself  with  these 
reflections.  He  soon  appeared  at  the  Hall,  and  pro- 
fessing deep  regret  at  the  necessity  for  this  state  of 
affairs,  in  a  tone  that  was  anything  but  regretful, 
apologised  that  his  duty  to  his  clients  obliged  him  to 
put  a  person  into  the  house  to  prevent  any  suspicion 
of  anything  being  conveyed  from  the  premises. 

This  fact  itself  was  a  bitter  baptism  to  Mr.  Flam- 
stead. With  his  delicate  and  sensitive  feelings,  the 
very  circumstance  that  a  spy  must  be  set  over  him 
and  his  family;  that  lie  was,  in  his  own  house,  a 
suspected  and  watched  personage,  as  if  he  were 
capable  of  committing  petty  frauds ;  that  he  was  to 
be  treated  by  such  souls  as  Pepper,  Stocks,  and 
Snape,  as  if  he  were  a  Pepper,  Stocks,  or  Snape — 
that  was  degradation,  that  was  sufficiently  galling  and 
humiliating ;   but  what  was  still  more   so,   was  the 

k  2 


102  DARK    DAV8. 

man  scut  f. .r  the  purpose  of  being  watch  and  guardhu 
of  the  creditors'  interest 

This  was  a  faithful  tool  and  servant  of  Mr.  Screw 
Pepper,  "ii<-  Gideon  Spine. 

Gideon  w.is,  like  his  master,  one  of  a  large  cl 
whose  abundance!  however,  is  often  denied  by  the 
wealthy  and  welUeducated  amongst  readers,  because 
it  is  not  the  happy  and  fortunate  who  are  made  a 
of  the  existence  of  such  men  ;  tin-  two  classes  walk 
through  life  in  very  different  places.  What,  indei  d, 
have  the  happy  an<l  fortunate,  the  educated  rind 
accomplished,  the  writers  and  the  readers  of  |ioetry 
and  romance,  to  «i<>  m  1th  parish-officers  and  constables  ? 
It  is  another  class  who  are  made  only  too  well 
acquainted  with  the  existence  of  this  class  of  men — 
the  poor,  or  those  who  are  about  to  become  so — the 
unfortunate.  The  happy  and  the  rich  ride  through 
the  world  rather  than  walk  through  it.  From  gay 
and  pleasant  carriages  they  look  down  on  the  dusty 
pedestrian  throng,  and  care  little  who  they  are — 
whether  they  be  of  the  devouring  or  devoured  class. 
What  interest  have  they  in  the  wearers  <>(  c 
linen  and  threadhare  Yorkshire  ?  What  matters  it 
whether  it  stretch  across  the  broad  hack  of  a  parish- 
officer,  or  the  narrowr  one  of  a  parish  pauper — over 
the  well-fed  sides  of  a  harpy  of  the  law.  or  the  lean 
members  of  him  of  whom  he  is  in  pursuit  ?  Hut  in 
the  great  throng  itself,  into  what  close  yet  unsavoury 
acquaintanceship  are  its  living  atoms  crushed  !  How 
they  look  into  each  other's  faces,  and  instinctively 
know  the  beak  from  the  victim — the  leech  from  the 
poor  creature  on  which  it  is  about  ravenously  to 
fasten  !  Then  how  numerous  appears  in  the  thronged 
highway  of  life  the  genus  to  which  Gideon  Spine 
belonged ! 


DAItiC    DAYS.  103 

Gideon  was  mow  an  old  looking  fellow  of  fifty. 
Whether  he  had  starved  himself,  or  sordid  cares  did 
the  work  of  starvation,  he  had  a  lean,  bony  figure, 
and  a  wrinkled  and  cadaverous  countenance.  He 
was  tall — had  large  hands  and  feet — wore  a  coarse 
long  coat  of  duffle  gray,  with  huge  pockets  behind, 
usually  stuffed  full  of  papers,  and  red  old  pocket- 
books,  whose  sides  were  bulged  out  with  their  con- 
tents. He  walked  with  a  tallish  and  stout  oak 
sapling,  and  leaned  forward  considerably  in  his  walk. 
He  generally  had  a  good  deal  of  gray  hair  hanging 
about  his  shoulders,  and  left  his  gray  whiskers  long 
and  lank.  He  had  a  thin  and  drawling  voice,  and  a 
still  and  cold  manner,  that  to  no  man's  knowledge 
had  ever  been  lit  up  by  a  smile. 

Gideon  Spine  had,  for  upwards  of  twenty  years, 
been  well  known  all  round  that  part  of  the  country  as 
a  parish  officer  of  a  large  country  parish,  or,  rather, 
sometimes  of  one  parish  and  sometimes  of  another. 
He  was  engaged  on  the  avowed  ground  that  there  was 
no  man  who  could  do  the  parish  business  so  cheaply  as 
he  could.  Whoever,  indeed,  could  extract  anything 
from  Gideon  Spine,  in  the  shape  of  parish  relief,  could 
certainly  have  found  honey  in  a  wasp's-nest.  Gideon's 
soul  had  a  hardness  as  of  granite ;  and  it  was 
neither  the  heat  of  indignation,  nor  the  tenderness  of 
entreaty,  that  could  make  any  impression  upon  it. 
He  was  quiet,  of  very  few  words,  and  immoveable. 
You  might  have  said  that  he  possessed  an  admirable 
patience  and  self-possession,  if  he  had  had  any  feel- 
ing that  was  excitable  ;  but  nobody  could  remember 
ever  witnessing  any  feeling  in  him,  except  of  a  pale 
and  deathly  anger,  when  any  of  his  prisoners 
attempted  to  escape  from  him,  when  he  has  been 
known  to  rise  into  the  most  ghastly  and  malignan* 


104  PARK    JlAYS. 

fury,  in  which  he  would  kick,  Mid  throttle,  ami  strike 
tin-  offenders  on  the  head  with  his  heavy  oak  sapling, 
iu  ;i  murderous  rage. 

There  was  no  appearance  in  which  Gideon  Spine 
was  more  familiar  to  tin-  people  than  that  of  riding 
hi  a  cart  through  the  villages,  with  a  family  of 
wretched  orphan  children,  whom  he  was  conveying 
to  Borne  distant  factory,  where  be  made  a  well-known 

trade  of  selling  them  at  the  usual  price  of  five  pound* 
a-piece,  for  such  a  term  as  should  entitle  them  to  n 
settlement,  and  prevent  the  parish  which  employed 
him  ever  being  troubled  with  them  again.  It  was 
by  frequently  meeting  him  at  sessions,  on  parish 
business,  and  seeing  tlie  admirable  qualifications  that 
lie  possessed  for  a  servant  of  the  law — his  perfect 
freedom  from  anything  like  the  weaknesses  which 
poets  and  such  effeminate  people  try  to  dignify  with 
the  epithet  humanity — his  stoic-like  firmness  and 
adherence  to  the  only  legitimate  object  of  gaining  his 
end,  without  any  regard  to  cries,  entreaties,  prayer-, 
or  any  other  ill-timed  interruptions — that  Mr.  Screw 
Pepper  was  made  ambitious  to  engage  him  in  his 
service.  lie  had  succeeded;  and  this  valuable  ser- 
vant had  now  been  some  years  his  trusty  agent  in 
manv  a  delicate  business.  Since  Spenser  described 
his  iron  man,  Tains,  who  went  thrashing  his  way 
through  the  world  with  his  iron  flail,  there  never 
had  been  seen  such  a  man  as  Gideon  Spine. 

The  trusty  Gideon  was  now  instilled  at  Dainsby 
as  watch  and  guardian  of  the  estate  of  the  creditors. 
He  had  his  bed  iu  one  of  the  garrets — he  was  not 
particular  where  — took  his  seat  in  the  kitchen,  and 
vat  and  drank  there  without  word  or  remark,  when- 
ever any  meal  was  Bet  on  the  table.  Only  once  di<l 
he  deign  to  open  hid  mouth  during   the   three  firs* 


DARK    DAVE.  105 

days  that  he  was  there,  spite  of  all  the  keen  things 
which  the  indignant  servants,  who  hated  both  his 
presence  and  his  office,  addressed  to  him,  or  to  one 
another.  Once,  on  the  third  day,  however,  at  dinner, 
as  Gideon  stretched  out  his  own  knife,  and  carved 
rudely  from  the  piece  of  beef  to  which  no  one  invited 
him,  a  maid  servant  said — "  You  make  pretty  free, 
master,  at  other  people's  tables  I " — "  Yes,"  replied 
Gideon,  coolly  ;  "  but  not  at  thine,  or  thy  masters  ! " 
— "At  whose,  then  ?"  asked  the  girl.  "  At  the  credi- 
tors'," rejoined  Gideon,  and  pursued  his  meal  in  peace, 
-egardless  of  all  the  sharp  shots  of  wrath  and  ridicule 
that  flew  about  his  ears. 

Gideon  Spine's  regular  employment  was  to  keep  a 
sharp  look  out  that  nothing  was  carried  off;  his 
incidental  labour  was  to  make  an  inventory  of  all  that 
the  house,  garden,  farm-yard,  and  farm  contained. 
In  the  pursuance  of  both  these  occupations,  he  was 
now  in  one  place  and  now  in  another,  and  opened 
doors,  peeped  into  the  most  private  rooms,  and  even 
walked  into  them,  without  the  least  ceremony.  He 
had  a  pace  as  stealthy  as  a  cat,  and  you  never  were 
sure  where  he  was.  In  the  garden  arbour,  when 
they  fancied  him  away  in  the  fields  or  the  woods,  for 
he  undertook  to  count  all  the  trees,  by  some  mode  of 
arithmetic  of  his  own,  and  to  cast  up  the  whole 
amount  of  their  value ;  and  when  they  had  been 
freely  dealing  with  both  Gideon  and  his  masters — a 
low  cough  would  apprise  them  that  he  was  behind 
the  vegetable  wall,  and  had  heard  everything.  In 
the  midst  of  some  confidential  talk  on  their  own 
affairs  in  their  most  private  rooms,  Gideon  would 
coolly  walk  in  and  stand  and  contemplate  a  ward- 
robe, a  glass,  or  a  chest  of  drawers,  as  if  estimating 
their  value;  and  they  might  just  as  well  tell  the 


IOC  »>.U.u    DAYS. 

furniture  itself  t>.  go  awa)  .is  Gideon,  He  was  u 
eontioua]  goad — reminding  them  from  hour  to  houi 
of  the  reality  of  their  melancholy  and  mortifying 
circumstance  b. 

We  must  pass  rapidly  over  the  years  of  still  deep- 
ening sorrow  and  trial  that  awaited  this  unhappy 
family.  I  say  years,  for  BUch  was  the  fact.  It 
was  not  Mr.  Slew  Pepper's  intention  to  let  the 
estate  of  Dainsby  pass  too  rapidly  through  his  fingi 
In  the  repeated  and  rigid  examinations  to  which 
Mr.  Henry  Flamstead  was  subjected,  in  that  process 
of  the  rack  and  the  harrow  which  is  called  making 
a  full  and  complete  surrender  of  all  his  effects  to  his 
creditors,  it  soon  became  known  to  the  assignees  that 
the  important  property  of  theClockinaker  was,  failing 
any  re-appearance  of  the  said  Clockmaker,  Mr.  Flam- 
stead's.  This  raised  the  cupidity  of  Mr.  Screw 
Pepper  to  the  utmost  extremity.  As  if  the  estate 
had  not  been,  if  fairly  dealt  with,  far  more  than 
sufficient  to  satisfy  all  the  claims  of  the  creditors,  he 
represented  to  them  how  desirable  and  how  just  it 
would  be  to  obtain  possession  of  this  money.  That 
obtained,  they  would  all  be  paid  at  once,  and  the 
estate  might  remain  intact  to  Mr.  Fl. mislead.  He- 
ad vised,  therefore,  that  no  sale  of  the  estate  should 
take  place  till  the  attempt  had  been  made  to  secure 
this  money,  but  the  rents  merely  be  collected  to  defray 
the  interest  of  the  debt. 

Mr.  Screw  Pepper  having  effected  this  arrange- 
ment, immediately  hastened  up  to  London,  and 
exerted  all  his  arts  of  legal  eloquence  and  finesse,  to 
induce  the  banking-house  which  held  this  money  in 
hand  to  surrender  it  to  the  creditors,  but  in  vain. 
He  commenced  a  suit  against  them  for  the  recovery 
of  it,  pleading  the  lung  disappearance,  and,  according 


DARK    DAYS.  107 

to  all  human  calculation,  absolute  certainty  of  the 
decease  of  the  Clockmaker,  but  with  as  little  success  ; 
the  house  stood  on  the  clear  and  simple  words  of  the 
trust,  and  the  court  confirmed  their  view  of  the 
matter. 

Mr.  Screw  Pepper,  baffled  here,  did  not,  however, 
abandon  his  endeavour  to  grasp  this  golden  treasure. 
He  tried  to  persuade  Mr.  Henry  Flamstead  to  sur- 
render his  claim  on  the  reversion,  holding  out 
as  an  inducement  that  it  would  facilitate  the  settle- 
ment of  his  affairs,  and  might  prove  the  entire 
salvation  of  his  estate.  So  satisfied  was  he,  Mr. 
Screw  Pepper  said,  of  the  certainty  of  this  property 
falling  to  Mr.  Flamstead,  that  if  Mr.  Flamstead 
would  grant  a  conditional  claim  upon  it  to  the  cre- 
ditors, he  had  but  little  hesitation  in  saying,  that  all 
might  be  brought  at  once  to  relinquish  their  demands 
of  present  payment,  and  leave  their  debts  in  full 
confidence  upon  this  joint  security. 

But  Mr.  Flamstead,  great  as  was  the  temptation 
to  save  his  estate,  entertained  too  deep  a  distrust  of 
Mr.  Screw  Pepper  to  consent  to  any  such  arrange- 
ment. He  affirmed  that  the  security  of  the  estate 
was  itself  ample  enough  for  all  that  stood  against  it ; 
that  nothing  was  more  demonstrative  of  this  than  the 
fact,  that,  spite  of  all  the  law  expenses  thrown  upon 
it,  it  still  paid  all  the  interest ;  and  that  the  minerals, 
still  untouched,  were  worth  twenty  or  thirty  thou- 
sand pounds.  He  demanded  that  the  statute  of 
bankruptcy  should  be  withdrawn,  and  protested  that 
nothing  but  the  most  false  representations  kept  him. 
and  his  estate  in  the  circumstances  in  which  they  were. 

Mr.  Screw  Pepper  affected  to  regard  these  re- 
monstrances as  so  many  unwarranted  attacks  on  his 
professional  advice  and  conduct,  and  became  only  the 


108  DARK    DATS. 

more  hitter  and  exacting.  In  fact  he  was  most  deep]? 
disappointed  in  his  hopes  of  establishing  a  claim  on 
tin-  Clockmaker's  wealth,  and  determined  to  rercnge 

himself  <ni  Mr.  Flanistead  lor  his  firm  resistance  to 
his  plans.  lie  commenced,  therefore,  a  system  <>f 
persecution,  by  which  he  hoped  finally  to  break 
Mr.  Flamstead'a  stubborn  will.  He  caused  him  to 
be  again  and  again  called  before  the  assignees,  and  to 
undergo  the  most  shamefully  rigorous  and  inquisito- 
rial cross-examination  as  to  the  full  disclosure  of  all 
his  effects.  He  even  called  upon  him  to  surrender 
the  watch  he  wore — the  beautiful  watch — the  gift  of 
his  uncle,  the  Clockmakcr,  in  his  boyhood,  and  which 
was  endeared  to  him  by  numberless  pleasant  memo- 
ries. Mr.  Flamstead,  bowed  down  as  he  was  by  the 
load  of  cruel  indignities  and  sorrows  that  had  been 
piled  upon  him,  yet  pleaded  hard  and  imploringly  to 
bo  allowed  to  retain  this,  urging  that  it  was  well 
known  that  the  estate  was  more  than  sufficient  for 
all  demands,  and  that  it  could  not  be  just  to  deprive 
him  of  his  personal  possessions.  But  Mr.  Screw 
Pepper  denied  that  the  estate  was  sufficient,  and 
declared  this  watch  to  be  of  far  more  than  the  value 
which  could  he  allowed  to  remain  with  a  bankrupt 
With  the  obedience  of  a  child  he  surrendered  this 
precious  gift,  and  had  afterwards  the  mortification  to 
hear  of  Mr.  Screw  Pepper  parading  it  in  hi*  pocket. 

Bitter  potionaweienowrepidlyadministered.  It  was 
declared  time  to  offer  the  estate  for  Bale.  It  was  adver- 
tised, bills  were  printed, and  the  family  weie  ordered  to 
quit  the  house.  It  would  In-  in  vain  to  endeavour  tc 
depict  the  utter  misery  of  this  time.  Where  should  the 
broken-hearted  family  go  on  quitting  their  old  home, — 
the  home  of  so  many  generations  of  their  ancestors,  the 
home  of  so  many  blissful  days, — where  »l>ould  they 


PARK    DAYS.  TOO 

go  ?  Mr.  Flamstead  proposed  to  remove  to  a  small 
cottage  in  the  village  that  belonged  to  the  estate;  to 
have  so  much  plain  furniture  from  the  hall  as  would 
suffice,  and  to  be  allowed  a  certain  sum  for  the  main- 
tenance of  the  family  till  the  affairs  were  wound  up, 
assured,  as  he  stated,  that  there  would  be  a  hand- 
some remainder  for  himself.  But  every  one  of  these  re- 
quests were  peremptorily  refused.  He  was  told  that  all 
must  be  sold — the  cottage,  the  furniture,  everything, 
and  that  no  maintenance  could  be  allowed  to  him  till  it 
was  ascertained  whether  there  was  any  surplus  or  not. 
The  reception  of  this  intelligence  seemed  to  stun 
tho  .vhole  family,  and  to  lay  them  prostrate  on  the  very 
earth.  Utter  ruin  and  starvation  stared  them  in  the 
face.  Where  should  they  go  ?  What  should  they 
do  ?  There  was  not  a  family  in  the  village  that  they 
had  a  claim  upon  for  shelter,  and  a  temporary  main- 
tenance. They  had  not  escaped  in  their  misfortunes 
those  usual  accompaniments  of  calamity,  which  give 
to  it  its  truest  bitterness.  Their  own  relations  had 
heaped  reproaches  of  extravagance,  mismanagement, 
and  foolish  ambition  upon  them,  without  offering 
them  any  consolation,  or  an  asylum.  There  were 
many  circumstances  common  to  falling  fortunes,  which 
we  cannot  enumerate  here,  that  contributed  to  sink 
them  into  desolation  and  despair.  Mr.  Flamstead 
had  suffered  terribly  in  health  and  spirits ;  a  deep 
and  depressing  melancholy  had  seized  upon  him,  and 
he  was  heard  frequently  to  say,  "  Oh  if  my  uncle  the 
Clockmaker  were  alive,  I  should  not  be  in  this  condi- 
tion— I  should  not  want  a'  friend."  His  wife  had 
sunk  still  more  in  health  and  spirits.  The  servants 
had  been  successively  dismissed,  and  the  elder  sisters 
had  at  once  to  attend  on  their  mother,  and  care  for 
the  younger  children. 

L 


110  1,  MIK     HAY*. 

But  there  was  one  bouse  and  one  heart  that  wm 
open  to  the  afflicted  family,  and  they  were  those  of 
the  widow  Weatbrook. 

Parmer  Weatbrook,  we  have  seen,  waa  the  first 
to  give  a  place  of  reception  to  the  methodists,  He 
had  now  been  dead  aome  yen-,  bat  his  widow  had 
continued  the  farm,  which  belonged  to  a  merchant  <>r 
London,  and  had  managed  the  affairs  with  admirable 
ability  and  bucc 

The  Widow  Weatbrook  was  one  of  those  women 
that  an  Englishman  loves  t<>  describe.  She  w:uj  in 
one  word  a  genuine  Englishwoman.  Bhe  was  comely 
in  form  and  face,  high-minded^,  warm-hearted, 
clever-headed,  discreet,  and  yet  hold.     She  was  what 

iti  failed  a  woman  on  a  large  scale  ;  tall,  portly,  fresh, 
and  active  in  carriage.  She  was  not  more  than  five- 
and-thirty,  and  had  a  handsome  style  of  features,  a 
fair  ruddy  complexion,  and  a  voice  and  manner  that 
made  you  feel  at  once  that  she  was  full  of  right  sense 
nd  feeling,  and  would  scorn  a  mean  action,  as  she 
would  despise  the  man  who  did  one. 

After  her  husband's  death,  people  said  it  would  be 
a  difficult  thing  for  her  to  keep  on  the  farm.  It  was 
a  large  one,  and  required  good  and  stirring  manage- 
ment, "it  would  be  a  very  awkward  thing,"  said 
many,  u  for  a  woman  to  go  to  market  and  chaffer  about 
corn  and  cattle  amongst  a  crowd  of  rude  men."  Nay, 
ao  fir  did  some  carry  it,  that  they  were  kind  enough 
to  apply  to  the  landlord  for  the  farm  itself,  in  case,  as 
they  expected,  she  would  leave  it.  But  Widow 
Westbrook  declared  that  with  (Jod's  help  she  had  no 
thought  of  leaving  it.  Her  husband  had  a  lease,  of 
which  eighteen  years  still  remained,  and  if  she  lived 
so  long  she  hoped  to  be  on  the  same  spot  when  the 
lease  expired.     She  soon  showed  that  she  was  very 


DARK    DAYS.  Ill 

capable  of  managing  her  affairs.  She  put  on  stout 
ankle  boots,  and  strode  over  her  farm  as  boldly  as  any 
farmer.  She  went  into  fields  even  when  ploughs 
were  at  work,  stepped  from  furrow  to  furrow,  and 
soon  let  the  ploughman  see  that  she  had  an  eye  to 
detect  both  what  was  well  and  ill  done.  In  short, 
there  was  no  farm  that  was  better  or  more  perfectly 
managed  than  hers.  As  to  buying  and  selline:,  she 
had  an  upper  labourer,  an  experienced  and  shrewd 
man,  to  whom  she  intrusted  this  business,  after  set- 
ting her  own  value  on  the  cattle,  and  with  success; 
and  as  it  regarded  her  corn,  there  was  a  worthy  miller 
who* undertook  to  buy  it  at  a  time's  price  himself,  or 
to  dispose  of  it  for  her  in  the  market,  which  he  did  to 
her  high  satisfaction.  That  miller  was  no  other  than 
Mick  Shay.  There  were  not  wanting  those  who 
declared  that  Mick  was  over  head  and  ears  in  love 
with  the  widow,  and  if  it  were  so,  it  was  no  wonder. 
But  Widow  Westbrook  had  refused  no  less  than  five 
or  six  offers  of  marriage  since  her  husband's  death, 
and  declared  she  would  always  remain  single. 
Whether  she  had  said  nay  to  Mick  Shay  nobody 
could  with  truth  tell ;  but  everybody  saw  that  Mick 
was  regular  in  his  calls  there  on  his  way  to  Derby 
market,  and  that  they  often  talked  a  long  time — a 
very  long  time  over  the  yard-gate  ;  but  as  everybody 
might  hear,  if  they  drew  near,  it  was  all  about  corn  and 
cattle,  hay  and  straw,  and  ducks  and  geese,  and  the  like. 
Mrs.  Westbrook,  after  her  husband  s  death, not  only 
continued  to  carry  on  his  farm,  but  carried  on  likewise 
his  interest  in  the  methodist  society.  She  became  a 
class-leader,  and  one  of  the  most  active,  and  judicious, 
and  influential  persons  connected  with  the  chapel. 
In  this  character  she  came  much  into  the  society  of 
the  Flamstead3,  and  a  great  mutual  interest  sprung 


112  DAHK     HAW 

up  between  them  The  clear  and  sound  judgment  of 
Mrs.  Westbrook  wee  m<>>t  confidently  relied  on  l>y 
.Mr  and  Mrs.  l'lamstead,  and  her  energetic  spirit 
often  imparted  its  force  ti>  their  more  timid  and 
languid  n,  ■■.  emcnta.  < >u  the  other  baud,  the  thorough 
amiability  and  honesty  of  the  Flarasteads  greatly 
pleased  Mrs.  Westbrook.  Strong  characters  are 
flattered  by  nothing  so  much  as  by  seeing  their  plans 
and  propositions  followed  out  by  their  friends,  and 
Mrs.  Westbrook  was  always  certain  of  having  the 
Bupport  of  the  Flamsteads,  if  she  once  could  convince 
t  i i «.- 1 1 1  of  the  pr<  priety  of  any  object.  The  two  elder 
daughters  took  the  moet  affectionate  fancy  to  her. 
[*o  go  round  and  sec  her  superintend  all  the  operations 
of  butter  and  cheese-making;  to  gather  vegetables 
and  fruit  for  household  purposes;  to  stroll  with  her 
through  her  orchard,  and  garden,  and  fields,  and  to 
learn,  liy  watching  and  helping  her.  all  the  female 
acts  of  preserving,  home-made-wine  making,  and  so 
on,  was  not,  though  my  fine-lady  readers  might  think 
otherwise,  in  that  simple  country-place,  inconsistent 
with  the  dignity  of  Squire  Flamstead'e  daughters, 
even  in  their  best  days. 

Mrs  Westbrook  took  a  lively  interest  in  the  attach* 
ment  of  Betsy  to  Robert  Nadcll,  and  many  were  the 
happy  summer  evenings  in  whi<  h  these  three  took  tea 
together  in  Mrs.  Westbrook's  arbour,  and  sat  and 
talked  on  all  that  interested  them  in  the  little  society 
of  the  place,  their  connections,  hopes,  and  pleasures. 

From  the  first  moment  that  trouble  reached  the 
Flamsteads,  Mrs.  Westbrook  had  been  the  most 
zealous  and  sympathising  of  friends  Could  she  have 
roused  Mr.  F]  un-tcad  to  the  spirited  measures  which 
she  recommended,  and  which  she,  in  her  own  case, 
would  certainly  have  adopted,  it  is  very  questionable 


DARK    KAYS.  113 

whether  Mr.  Screw  Pepper  would  have  been  able  to 
establish  such  a  power  over  the  estate,  or  have 
carried  things  with  the  high  hand  that  he  did.  But 
when  she  warmly  counselled  him  to  such,  he  only 
shook  his  head,  and  said  there  were  particulars  that 
ehe  did  not  know  of. 

The  day  for  removal  approached,  and  Mrs.  West- 
brook  was  the  true  friend  in  need.  She  came  the 
moment  she  heard  that  this  was  imperative,  and  said 
that  they  must  all  come  to  her  till  something  farther 
could  be  done.  It  was  in  vain  that  they  represented 
that  they  should  fill  her  house  from  bottom  to  top, 
and  that  they  knew  not  if  they  should  ever  be  able 
to  make  her  a  recompense. 

"  The  recompense,"  said  Mrs.  Westbrook,  "  is  to 
come  to  me  and  let  me  feel  that  I  can  be  of  any  use 
to  my  friends." 

On  the  day  that  they  were  to  remove,  she  had 
arranged  that  they  should  come  and  dine  with  her. 
There  should  be  no  spectacle,  no  stir,  no  melancholy 
procession.  Her  covered  spring-cart  should  go  up  to 
the  hall,  and  in  it,  laid  comfortably  on  a  bed  and 
cushions,  Mrs.  Flamstead,  who  was  in  the  lowest 
6tate  of  debility,  should  be  quietly  conveyed  to  her 
house  without  anybody  being  the  wiser.  The 
children  should  make  a  detour  and  cross  over  the 
fields  by  a  road  well  known  to  them,  and  avoid  the 
village  and  the  gaze  of  the  villagers ;  and  Betsy  and 
Nancy  should  walk  down  direct  to  the  farm,  while 
Mr.  Flamstead  and  George  should  drop  in  as  if  by 
chance.  The  cart  should  go  again  in  the  evening  for 
their  effects,  and  the  whole  transfer  should  be  made 
with  the  greatest  quietness. 

Melancholy  and  wringing  to  the  hearts  of  all  as  was 
this  abandonment  of  the  home  of  so  many  precious 

i2 


114  FHIKNUS    IN    NKKD. 

days  and  recollections,  and  with  the  prospect  of  seeing 
it  made  over  to  strangers  for  ever. ;  yet,  perhaps,  no 

plan  could  so  much  lessen  the  force  of  their  grief  as 
this.  They  found  themselves,  without  any  formality 
of  departure,  all  assembled,  as  they  had  often  been 

before,  round  tin-  hospitable  board  of  Widow  ^Ve8t- 
brook,  with  the  same  comely  and  cordial  face  beam- 
ing welcome  upon  them  as  ever.      Hut   there  was  a 

weight  and  a  consciousness  of  the  reality  which 
nothing  could  lift  from  their  spirits.  They  were 
outcasts  from  their  home  and  property  ;  the  future 
was  dark  before  them.  They  could  do  little  more 
than  sit  and  weep  together.  In  the  evening  came 
their  effects.  These  were  in  reality  nothing  more 
than  their  clothes  and  their  private  papers.  Every- 
thing else,  even  small  pieces  of  furniture  and  nick- 
nacks,  the  gifts  of  friends,  were  not  permitted  to  be 
brought  away — merely  the  trunks  which  contained 
what  I  have  stated. 

We  may  believe  that  it  was  a  melancholy  and  a 
sleepless  night  to  all  except  the  children,  who,  with 
the  light-heartedness  of  childhood,  which  is  regardless 
of  the  strangest  changes  in  life,  so  that  food  and  rest 
and  the  sight  of  nature  be  left  them,  were  all  day 
delighted  to  run  about  the  farm-yard  and  farm,  and 
to  watch  the  turkeys,  the  pigeons,  and  the  people 
feeding  and  milking  the  cows,  and  at  night  dropped 
into  their  beds  as  peacefully  as  they  had  done  in 
the  brightest  days  at  the  hall. 


CHAPTER    IX. 

FRIEND8  IN  NEED,  AND  PLANS  IN  NEED. 

But  if  the   night   were  melancholy,  the  morning 
was  still  more  so.     The  whole  elder  portion  of  the 


AND    PLANS   IN   NEED.  115 

family  hfeld  a  solemn  council  with  Mrs.  Westbrook, 
as  what  was  best  to  do  for  the  future.  Not  to  weigh 
on  her  kindness  for  more  than  a  few  days  they  were 
resolved.  George  declared  that  he  had  well  con- 
sidered what  was  best  for  him  already,  and  that  there 
was  nothing  which  he  found  too  humble  for  him 
which  gave  him  any  degree  of  present  support.  He 
held  it  for  certain  that  in  fifteen  years  the  whole  pro- 
perty of  the  Clockmaker  would  be  theirs,  and  raise 
them  above  all  necessity ;  he  did  not  despair  but  that 
something  might  yet  be  done  to  pluck  the  property 
out  of  the  hands  of  the  present  unprincipled  people 
whs  had  possession  of  it;  but  till  then,  it  became 
them  not  to  be  a  burden  to  their  friends.  In  antici- 
pation of  this  event,  he  had  been  to  the  agricultural 
implement  maker,  who  used  to  work  for  him,  but 
who  was  now  master  of  a  justly  flourishing  concern 
at  Derby,  and  had  engaged  himself  as  clerk  and 
superintendent  in  the  occasional  absence  of  the 
master,  at  a  salary  of  four-and-twenty  shillings 
a-week.  As  he  was  also  to  be  allowed  to  do  actual 
work  after  the  regular  hours  of  business,  he  had  no 
doubt  of  his  being  able  to  gain  his  five-and-thirty 
shillings  or  two  pounds  a  week,  and  he  hoped  to  be 
able  to  share  at  least  twenty  shillings  of  it  with  his 
family.  That,  he  knew,  would  be  but  little  towards 
their  actual  necessities,  to  say  nothing  of  comforts. 
Something  further  must  be  sought  to  assist ;  none  that 
could  by  respectable  means  obtain  even  a  few  shillings 
must  neglect  to  do  it,  and  if  they  only  cured  them- 
selves of  the  false  shame  of  resorting  to  labour,  they 
should  at  least  make  an  honourable  conquest  over 
false  prejudices. 

As  George  said  this,  his  father  gazed  at  him  with 
a  look  qf  strange  amaze.     It  was  evident  that  nothing 


11G  FRIENDS    IN    NKKD, 

bo  practical  as  this  had  ever  entered  hia  hew  during 
the  whole  courseofhis  misfortunes.  There  sraa  a 
singular  contention  of  feelings  in  his  bosom.  Ho 
knew  not  whether  more  to  admire  George's  energy 
wonder  at  his  plans,  or  shrink  from  this  humble  track 
of  usefulness  that  his  son  pointed  out  to  him.  Hut 
soon  his  own  good  Bense,  seconded  by  the  cheerful  out- 
break  of  applauding  voices  from  Mrs.  Westbrook  and 
his  elder  daughters,  took  the  lead  of  all  other  feel- 
ingsand  sentiments,  and  he  cried  with  -Mrs.  West- 
brook,  '-WCll  done,  George  1  that  is  brave.  That 
is  what  we  must  all  endeavour  to  imitate.  It  is  no  use 
now  sinking  into  utter  despondency.  Those  who  have 
got  the  upper  hand  of  us  arc  not  disposed  to  be  very 
accommodating  to  us.  Let  us  then  not  beg  and  sue  to 
them.  Let  them  not  have  the  power  to  humiliate  us. 
To  work  and  maintain  ourselves,  watching  for  the 
return  of  a  hitter  day,  is  no  degradation — it  must  be 
pleasing  in  the  sight  of  God,  and  of  every  good  man." 

"Oh,  Mr.  Flamstead!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  West- 
brook,  '"  how  you  rejoice  me  to  hear  you  talk  so. 
We  will  all  see  what  is  to  he  done.  We  will  find  out 
something,  never  fear,  to  make  you  all  at  least  comfort- 
able till,  as  you  say,  better  days  come— and  depend 
upon  it  they  will  come.  It  is  good  for  us  to  be  tried; 
God  knows  that  in  his  fatherly  goodness,  and  if  we 
are  not  the  hetter  for  it,  it  is  our  own  fault." 

"Oh,  what  can  tee  do?"  exclaimed  both  Betsy 
and  Nancy  in  one  breath  ;  "  we  will  not  be  idle — v/e 
must,  and  will  do  something,  but  what;  dear  Mrs. 
Westbrook,  help  us  to  think  what?" 

"  1  have  been  thinking  about  it,"  replied  Mrs. 
Westbrook,  Bmiling  ;  "  and  I  think  I  have  something 
already  for  you,  Miss  Betsy.  I  wish  it  were  worthy 
of  you — but  we  must,  at  first,  get  what  we  can." 


AND    PLAITS    IN    NEED.  117 

Mrs.  Westbrook  then  paid  that  she  had  a  friend  in 
Derby,  a  milliner  and  mantua-niaker  in  good  busi- 
ness, and  she  had  spoken  to  her  of  Betsy.  She  had 
told  her  what  a  beautiful  needle-woman  she  was — 
what  a  fine  taste  she  had  in  matters  of  dress;  and 
her  friend,  who  was  a  very  good  woman,  would 
rejoice  to  have  Miss  Betsy's  services  for  a  time.  She 
should,  she  said,  sit  in  her  own  private  room  with 
herself  and  another  young  lady  who  was  learning  the 
business,  to  begin  in  a  large  way  in  a  city  in  the  West 
of  England,  a  relative  of  her  own  ;  and  though,  per- 
haps, she  should  not  be  able  to  give  Miss  Flamstead 
much  money  just  at  first,  till  she  got  into  all  their 
ways,  yet  she  could  offer  her  a  quiet  home,  with 
great  privacy,  and  in  a  while,  she  did  not  doubt,  a 
handsome  remuneration." 

Betsy  agreed  at  once  to  accept  this  offer.  She 
knew  Mrs.  Fernhead  ;  she  had  often  been  at  her 
shop ;  she  was  sure  she  would  like  her — and  then 
she  should  be  so  near  George. 

"And  me?"  inquired  Nancy,  with  tears  and 
smiles  in  her  eyes  at  once. 

"  Ah  ! "  said  Mrs.  Westbrook,  "  you,  dear  little 
soul,  must  stay  and  be  nurse  and  housekeeper  to  your 
dear  parents.  Oh,  where  can  you  be  so  happy  and 
so  useful?  I  shall  keep  little  Edward,  Jane,  and 
Mary  with  me,  and  you  will  have  the  three  others. 
You  must  have  a  cottage  somewhere  near  here,  and 
then  we  shall  see  one  another.  We  shall  often  meet 
to  cry  a  little,  and  to  scold  a  little  together,  at  the 
world  and  its  worst  folks.  Oh,  those  good-for- 
nothing  Screw  Peppers,  and  Stocks,  and  Snapes,  and 
Spines  ! — we  '11  be  happy  in  spite  of  them  !  Wre  '11, 
be  happy  in  abusing  them.  Don't  cry  so  now,  Mrs. 
Flamstead — what 's  the  use  of  it  ?  " 


110  Kim  mi-   in    mi  i), 

Mrs.  Flamstead  lay  crying  on  the  soft,  and  the 
tears  of  her  daughters  fell  a*  fast  m  Ik  rown. 

"What  nonsense  it  is  i-"  continue!   Mrs.  W'eat- 
brook,  stealthily  wiping  tears  from  her  own  '. 
"what  nonsense  it  is,  when  all  will  soon   be  well 
again.     I  know  it  will.     I  am  sure  it  will.     Who 

knows  what  God  has  in  store?      Who  knows  how  lie 

can  and  will  confound  all  these  poor,  miserable, 
wretched  people?     Oh,  a  day  will  come!     I  feel  as 

6ure  of  it,  as  I  am  sure  that  that  Screw  P<  pper  is  a 
double-dyed  villain, and  I  shall  see  yon  all  -m  tiled  down 
again  in  that  dear  old  house,  just  as  if  you  had  only 
been  on  a  bit  of  a  journey." 

Thus  ran  on  the  good,  kind-hearted,  buxom  widow, 
with  a  voice  that  had  a  wonderful  power  of  comfort 
in  it  ;  ami  the  afflicted  family,  now  smiling,  now 
weeping,  began  actually  to  feel  as  she  spoke,  as  if 
such  a  day  would  one  day  come,  and  felt  stronger 
and  better.  George  and  Betsy  were  impatient  to 
enter  on  their  new  life  ;  and  in  a  few  days  Mrs. 
Westbrook  sent  them  off  together  in  her  gig,  while 
she  sent  their  trunks  by  the  carrier,  and  the  next 
day  persuaded  Mr.  Flamstead  himself  to  drive  her 
over  to  sec  that  all  was  comfortable. 

Mr.  I'lamstead  had  a  strange  shrinking  at  the  idea 
of  finding  his  son  George,  the  long-regarded  heir  of 
Dainshy  Old  Hall,  at  work  at  an  agricultural  imple- 
ment maker's,  and  his  eldest  daughter  stitching  away 
in  a  mantua-maker's  Bhop.  J5ut  when  he  actually 
saw  them,  he  was  surprised  to  find  how  little  the 
reality  was  like  his  fancy.  George  was  seated  in  a 
very  respectable  counting-house,  occupied  at  the 
books;  and  in  the  ample  warehouses  of  the  ingenious 
mechanist  was  such  a  display  of  scientific  and  curious 
farming  apparatus,  as  really  deeply  interested  him. 


AND    PLANS    IN    NEED.  119 

Betsy  was  also  seated  comfortably  in  a  small,  but 
neat  parlour,  and  was  engaged  with  her  needle  on  a 
fine  piece  of  lace,  just  as  she  might  have  been  at 
home.  Both  expressed  themselves  much  satisfied, 
and  were  sure  that  they  should  be  happy,  if  they 
could  only  know  that  those  at  home  were  so.  Poor 
Henry  Flainstead,  humbled  and  stripped  as  he  was, 
came  home  with  a  lighter  heart. 

Kind,  and  cordial,  and  cheering,  as  Mrs.  Westbrook 
was,  it  was  a  depressing  feeling  to  the  sensitive  mind 
of  Mr.  Flainstead,  that  there  was  he  and  his  family, 
no  less  than  nine  persons,  pressing  heavily  on  the 
generous  hospitality  of  the  good  widow  ;  and  he  wa3 
noxious  to  get  into  a  cottage  of  his  own,  however  poor, 
though  he  really,  as  yet,  could  not  tell  where  either 
the  money  to  furnish  it,  or  to  furnish  the  table  from 
day  to  day,  was  to  come  from.  Mrs.  Westbrook, 
though  she  threw  no  obstacle  in  his  way,  still  said, 
"  Pray,  don't  hurry,  Mr.  Flamstead,  there  is  no  occa- 
sion— let  us  see  what  may  turn  up  in  a  while." 

"  What  can  turn  up  ?  "  asked  he  despondingly. 

"  Ah,  that  I  cannot  tell.  How  can  one  tell  all  the 
plans  which  our  good  Father  in  Heaven  has  for  us  ? 
But  something  will — you  '11  see  something  will — as 
sure  as  the  sun  is  sent  round  the  world  every  day  to 
look  after  us  all  like  a  great  shepherd,  and  to  scatter 
cocks  of  hay  and  strengthening  corn  amongst  us, 
God's  human  flock,  as  he  goes." 

Mrs.  Westbrook  smiled  so  sweetly  and  confidingly 
as  she  said  this,  that  Mr.  Flamstead  could  not  help 
looking  at  her  with  a  sort  of  feeling  that  she  had 
noraething  more  on  her  mind  than  she  said — that  one 
did  not  see  into  all  her  plans.  Be  that  as  it  may, 
one  evening,  about  a  fortnight  afterwards,  Mick  Shay 
came    hastily  into  the  Widow  Westbrook's.     The 


120  I  KM  Mis    IN    NKKI), 

widow  had  been  ill  round  the  village  nil  the  afternoon 
with  Mr.  Flamstead,  looking  ;it  cottages  and  rooms 
in  honaee  to  Bee  what  would  beat  suit  his  family.  So 
caper    was    he    to  get    into   one   of  them,  as  if  Mrs. 

Westbn  ■!  table,  flowing  with  the  milk  and 

honey  of  plenty,  and  ungrudging  kindness,  had  in  it 
something  that  quite  made  him  in  a  hurry  to  get 
away  from  it — bo  he  thought  this — and  then  that, 
and  thi  n  the  other,  would  do  excellently.  To  none 
of  ihem,  however,  did  Mrs.  Wcsthrook  seem  very 
much  inclined  ;  one  was  too  small,  another  too 
gloomy.  They  must  really  have  something  sunny, 
and  with  a  sunny  garden,  though  it  was  small,  and 
the  third  was  actually  damp.  Oh,  they  would  get 
lumbago,  rheumatism,  consumption,  there.  "  It's  all 
in  good  time j  don't  you  think  so,  Michael?"  said 
Mrs.Westbrook,  -all  quite  in  good  time  yet." — "  Did 
you  ever  gauge  a  boat,  Mesterl  "  a-ked  Mick,  without 
making  any  reply  to  the  question  of  the  widow. — 
"No,  I  never  did,"  replied  Henry  Flamstead. — "  But 
you  could,  no  doubt,  with  a  very  little  instruction. 
Lord  bless  me!  it's  the  easiest  thing  in  the  world. 
You  just  poke  a  stick  with  marks  ready  made  on  it 
down  the  side  of  a  boat,  as  it 's  on  th'  water — here 
and  there — and  then  look  at  a  little  book  wi'  tables 
o'  figures  in  it,  and  then  you  have  an  exact  account 
of  the  weight  o'  coals  or  other  goods  i'  th'  boat." — "  I 
have  no  doubt,"  replied  Mr.  Flamstead,  "  that  I  very 
soon  could  do  that." — "  Oh,  for  that  matter,  I  could 
soon  do  it  myself,  though  I  never  war  much  of  a 
hand  at  reckoning,"  said  Mick,  "  but  if  you  think 
that  just  that  easy  sort  of  a  thing  would  suit  you 
— just  till  your  own  affairs  take  a  turn — why,  you 
see,  I  think  you  can  have  it." — "  Can  I  ?"  demanded 
Mr.  Flamstead  eagerly,  who  saw  a  prospect  of  sup- 


AND   PLANS   IN    NEKD.  121 

port  open  before  him,  just  calculated  for  his  not 
very  hardy  frame  or  turn  of  mind.  "  What  is  it, 
Michael  ?  Is  it  on  the  canal — Oh,  pray  what  is  it  ?  " 
— "  It's  just  what  you  say,"  returned  Michael,  ','  I 
heard  tlv*  other  day  that  th'  clerk  on  th'  Cromford 
Canal,  at  Coldnor  Park,  was  going  to  leave — so  says 
I,  that's  just  the  very  thing  for  squire  Flamstead, 
i'  th'  present  distress.  A  more  easy  post — just  to 
watch  out  of  his  house  as  the  boats  come,  drop  his 
6tick  into  th'  water,  look  at  his  book,  say  'All's 
right,'  and  in  again.  A  nice  little  house  with  the 
walls  all  covered  with  apricot  and  pear-trees.  I've 
alw.-,ys  admired  how  neat  that  house  was,  and  what 
apricots  and  pears  that  man  had — and  there 's  a  nice 
garden  with  a  famous  row  of  beehives — he'll  leave 
the  bet-hives  to  a  sartainty — he'll  never  take  the 
bees  wi'  him.  It's  just  the  thing,  says  I  to  myself, 
and  no  time's  to  be  lost,  '  faint  heart  never  won  fair 
lady,'"  and  here  Michael  glanced  at  the  widow — "so 
I  up  and  off  to  Mester  Jessop  o'  Butterly.  I  know, 
says  I,  he's  a  man  that  has  weight  wi'  th'  proprietors, 
and  he'll  lean  to  a  born  gentleman,  and  a  good  gentle- 
man, as  sure  as  he  is  a  gentleman  himself.  So  I  off, 
and  gets  speech  of  him,  and  blame  me  but  he  made 
th'  bJood  fly  out  o'  my  heart  into  my  heels  !  " — "How? 
Why  ?  "  inquired  Widow  Westbrook  sharply. — 
"Why  just  by  shaking  his  head.  Thinks  I  it's 
all  over — he  's  promised  it  to  somebody  or  other 
before  I  knew — ding  my  buttons  now  !  But  he  was 
not  shaking  his  head  about  that  after  all.  It  was  out  o* 
regard  to  the  squire's  Misfortunes — '  Mick,'  says  he, 
*  I  'in  heartily  glad  that  you  're  come  as  you  are. 
Another  hour  and  it  had  been  too  late ;  I  am  just 
going  to  the  committee  where  there  are  forty  appli- 
cants waiting  ;  but  I  must  have  it  for  Mr.  Flamstead 

u 


122  nUBNIM    IH    m  in, 

if    I   can — lie's   B    worthy    man,    ami    that    Lawyer 

Pepper  is  a  d d  rascal ;  and  1  am  grieved  at  my 

heart  for  Mr.  Flamstead.  But  Michael/  continued 
he,  'you  've  your  horse  with  yon  I  reckon,  so  mount 
nml  away  with  me  :  there  b  do  time  like  the  pre- 
sent. You  can  wait  a  few  minutes  there,  and  you  '11 
know  the  upshot  of  the  business  at  once,'  Bo  off  we 
went,  and  as  we  rode  along  he  would  have  me  tell 
him  all  about  this  had  business,  and  the  gob  gs  on  of 
this  Screw  Pepper.  At  which  he  shook  bis  bead 
again,  and  never  said  another  word  till  we  tot  to  the 
Inn  where  the  committee  were  Bitting.  Hut  heaven 
help  me!  I  could  ha'  cried,  really  1  could,  to  see  the 
crowd  of  poor,  thin,  down-looking  men  there  were  all 
anxiously  waiting  here  about  this  place.  They  were 
evidently  men  that  hud  Buffered  a  deal.  They  had 
supped  on  sorrow,  and  breakfasted  on  nothing.  And 
how  they  had  brushed  up  their  old  threadbare  coats, 
and  put  on  the  shirt  that  had  the  deccntish  collar  and 
wristbands.  Oh  my  !  but  those  pale,  thin  faces, 
they  couldn't  brush  up  them,  and  when  they  saw  me 
come,  what  a  look  they  gave  me,  as  if  they  saw 
another  enemy.  '  .Mick,'  said  some  of  them  that 
knew  me,  'why  sure  thou  art  not  a  candidate?' 
'  Why  not?'  said  I,  for  I  did  not  know  rightly 
what  to  say,  '  why  not  ?  I  dunna  sec  why  a  man 
that  can  gauge  a  flour  hag  canna  gauge  a  boat.  I  've 
been  so  long  i '  th'  dust,  1  think  it  would  do  me  no 
harm  to  be  in  th  '  water  a  hit.'  Burn  it  !  I  won- 
dered at  myself  for  joking — 'it's  cruel,'  said  I  to 
myself,  'it  s  worse  than  a  bumbailiff;'  but  I  didn't 
know  what  to  say — I  tell  ye — hecause,  yo  see,  I  was 
iu  some  sort  a  candidate  •  And  then  that  poor  ghastly 
smile  that  they  gave  at  my  joke.  '  Nay,  Mick,'  said 
one  of  them,  '  thou  artn't  after  the  place  or  thou 


AND    FLANS    IN    NEED.  123 

couldn't  make  merry  about  it.'  'Merry,'  says  I, 
'  Heaven  knows  I  am  anything  but  merry — so  let's 
have  something  to  drink.'  I  flung  down  half-a-crown 
— that  instant  comes  a  man  with  a  pen  behind  his 
ear,  looks  and  beckons  to  me  ;  and  when  I  gets  out, 
'There's  that,'  said  he, 'with  Mr.  Jessop's  compli- 
ments.' I  looks  at  the  paper,  but  my  hand  trembled, 
my  head  swam,  I  couldn't  read  a  letter — it  looked  all 
like  scrawls  and  crooked  ss's  ;  so  I  stuffed  it  into  my 
pocket  and  rushed  out  of  the  house.  My  horse 
seemed  as  fond  of  going  as  myself;  he  set  off  wi'  a 
whuh;  and  it  was  not  till  I  got  upon  Coldnor  common 
that*]  got  down,  tied  him  to  a  gorse-bush,  and  began 
to  read. — There's  the  paper — the  place  is  yours  !  " 

Who  shall  tell  the  joy  and  surprise  that  ran 
through  all  the  assembled  guests.  There  was  more 
rejoicing,  more  tears  of  joy,  spite  of  their  pity  for  the 
forty  disappointed  candidates,  over  the  unexpected 
gain  of  this  little  post,  than  if  the  whole  wealth  of 
the  Clockmaker  had  dropped  into  Dainsby  Hall  in 
the  days  of  its  prosperity. 

Those  who  had  said  that  Michael  Shaw  was  in 
love  with  the  Widow  Westbrook  would  now  have 
said  that  the  widow  was  perfectly  enamoured  of 
Michael ;  she  looked  as  if  she  were  actually  going  to 
embrace  him,  but  she  did  no  more  than  shake  his 
hand  cordially  in  both  of  hers,  and  exclaimed, 
"Michael!  Michael!  why,  this  is  a  feather  in  thy 
cap  !  Well,  success  to  all  honest  millers  for  ever  and 
ever,  say  I !  " 

"  And  Michael  Shaw  above  all  others  !  "  exclaimed 
little  Nancy,  the  tears  starting  from  her  eyes,  nay, 
seeming  to  run  all  over  her  handkerchief  which  could 
neither  stop  them,  nor  the  smiles  which  burst  out 
like    June     sunshine    from     among     them.       Mr. 


124  1  Ull  \  Its    IS-     M-KI>, 

Flamstead  Bhook  Mick  by  the  hand,  but  could  not 
say  a  word  ;  and  .Mrs.  Flamstead  as  she  lay  <m  the  sofa 
quietly  weeping  to  herself,  \\ith  two  or  three  children 
clinging  about  her,  thanked  him  by  her  silence  too, 
Mrs.  Weetbrook  was,  in  the  meantime,  hustling 
about,  and  in  came  the  tea-things.  The  whole 
party  sate  down  and  soon  were  in  a  perfect  ocean  of 
plans  for  furnishing  and  Hitting,  and  everything. 
The  Widow  Westbrook  was  to  go  with  Mr. 
Flamstead  and  Nancy  the  next  day  to  buy  furniture, 
which  Mick  Shay  and  Turn  Fletcher  claimed  the 
right  of  fd  tching  and  putting  into  the  house. 

All  the  business  of  that  buying  and  flitting,  the 
looking  over  the  little  house  and  garden,  how  well- 
pleased  the  Flamsteads  seemed  with  all.  and  what 
satisfaction  they  promised  themselves  in  tlie  humble 
premises,  and  how  Mis.  Weatbrook  and  Mick  Shay 
came  actually  together  the  first  day  that  all  was  com- 
pleted, and  drank  tea  with  them,  all  this  we  must 
leave  to  the  imagination  of  the  reader.  In  a  very  few- 
weeks  everybody  seemed  settled  into  his  or  her  place 
as  if  it  had  belonged  to  them  for  years.  Henry 
Flamstead,  although  still  to  all  appearance  a  melan- 
choly man,  performed  his  duty  with  attention  and 
to  the  full  satisfaction  of  the  company.  Nancy  was 
as  neat  and  thrifty  a  house  keeper  as  one  eould 
sc  e  anywhere.  There  were  three  of  the  younger 
children  with  ihem  at  home,  where  Nam;,  instructed 
them  when  her  work  was  done,  and  who  played  and 
•weeded  in  the  garden  at  other  times.  Mrs.  Flam- 
stead was  really  better  as  if  with  the  very  change  of 
air.  The  other  three  children  were  with  Mrs. 
Wtstbrook,  and  cwyy  Sunday  the  whole  family,  by 
the  good  widow's  peremptory  order,  met  at  her  house, 
went  to  the  chapel  together,  and  spent  the  day  in  much 


AND    PLANS    IN    NEED.  125 

ruiet  satisfaction  ;  George  and  Betsy  excepted,  who, 
nowever  were  generally  with  them  once  a  month,  and 
George  who  was  a  good  walker  much  oftener. 

Though  we  are  not  to  suppose  that  former  days,  that 
Dainsby  Old  Hall,  or  the  state  of  the  family  property 
and  affairs  were  ever  out  of  their  minds,  or  that  they 
could  be  perfectly  happy  under  such  circumstances, 
yet  they  were  not  the  less  thankful  to  a  good  Pro- 
vidence' for  so  good,  though  humble  a  position  as 
they  had  found  for  the  present.  Their  real  religious 
feeling  was  only  the  more  deepened  by  their  -mis- 
fortunes, and  they  could  now  more  forcibly  bless  God 
fvn  the  benefits  they  enjoyed  than  they  could  formerly 
for  tlie  most  abundant  flow  of  their  good  fortune. 

It  was  true  that  the  active  Screw  Pepper  was  busy 
with  legal  chicanery  with  the  Dainsby  estate,  and,  as 
was  said  by  the  knowing  head-shakers,  drawing  the 
very  marrow  out  of  it  for  himself.  It  was  true  that 
his*  creature,  Gideon  Spine,  with  his  vulgar  dowdy 
wife  and  children,  was  located  in  the  hall,  and  was 
duly  seen  going  round  with  his  book  from  farm  to 
farm,  cottage  to  cottage,  collecting  rents  and  arrears 
of  rents.  It  was  true  that  with  fortune's  smiles, 
many  another  smile  had  vanished  from  once  friendly 
faces,  but  yet  there  was  a  support  and  a  haven  for 
the  present,  and  good  hope  for  the  future. 

"  AV'ere  but  my  uncle  the  Clockmaker  alive, 
how  soon  all  would  be  right !  "  still  sighed  Henry 
Flamstead ;  yet  he  was  always  reminded  that  if  he 
were  not  here  himself,  his  wealth  would  ere  long  be 
theirs,  and  set  all  in  order  again. 

Through  all,  Mrs.  Westbrook  was  the  steady, 
animating,  and  counselling  friend.  She  was  not  con- 
tent even  to  be  that— she  broke  forth  in  no  sparing 
terms  on  all  and  every  one  who  seemed  to  forget  in 

w  2 


XZ6  FRIENDS    IN    NI'.I  1>, 

the  present  condition*  of  the  Flamsteads,  the  fiicmi. 

ship  .-Hid  f.ivuiir  of  the  past  times.  One  instance  of 
this  I  miivt  not  omit, 

Dainsby  ()M  Hall  had  always  been  the  welcome 
and  cheering  In. me,  and  resort  of  the  methodisl 
ministers  who  came  to  preach  at  the  chapel.  But 
when  misfortune  fell  on  the  Flamsteads,  the  plao  i  f 
entertainment  became  the  house  of  .Mrs.  Wesibrook. 
She  soon  1"  gan  to  notice  that  some  of  these  preachers 
Beemed  to  come  and  go  and  make  little  inquiry  after 
their  old  friends  and  entertainers.  She  was  inwardly 
piqued,  but  for  some  time  she  said  nothing  exeept  to 
her-  If,  which  was  (his,  M  So,  they  have  forgotten  the 
roof  that  covered  them;  the  table  thai  was  spread 
for  them  ;  the  hand  that  fed  them  and  welcomed  them. 
Now,  that  which  is  their  ease  would  be  mine  also. 
Oho,  youngsters!  hut  I  shall  take  you  to  tu-k  though!" 

These  preachers  were,  it  must  be  understood, 
chiefly  young  men.  who  were  called  local,  or  oc- 
casional preachers,  that  is,  preachers  who  Mere  in  a 
process  of  initiation  for  the  regular  ministry,  or  who 
were    a   kind    of   amateur   preachers    in    their   own 

neighbourh 1  ;  men  in  business  who  had   not   any 

ultimate  ideas  of  being  anything  more.  These 
preachers  are  generally  sent  into  the  country, 
especially  those  who  are  making  their  first  essays, 
and  thus,  while  acquiring,  by  practice,  confidence  and 
experience  themselves,  serve  to  relieve  the  labours  of 
the  Regular  or  Round  Preachers,  so  called  because 
they  go  certain  rounds  in  a  fixed  district.  Many  of 
these  young  men  were,  as  the  greater  number  of  the 
Methodist  preachers  of  that  time  were,  persons  of 
very  little  education,  nailers,  potters,  fi.'inesmiths, 
and  such  like  from  Bel  per,  and  such  manufacturing 
places.     There  were  truly  many  tilings  which  they 


AND    PLANS    IN    NEED  127 

had  to  learn,  and  Mrs.  Westbrook  did  not  fail  to  do 
her  best  to  enlighten  them  on  many  points,  and  now 
especially  on  this.  "  How  is  it,"  she  asked,  "  that 
yon  do  not  go  to  the  Hall  now  ?" — "  Oh.  it  is  in  the 
hands  of  the  creditors;  we  could  notdo  that." — "True, 
not  to  eat  and  drink,  or  to  sleep — but  you  could 
at  least  go,  and  ask  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Flamstead  how 
they  do." — "  Oh,  we  've  done  that  at  the  chapel." — 
"  Well,  that 's  something,  to  be  sure ;  but  I  should  like 
you  much  better,  let  me  tell  you,  if  you  went  and  did 
the  same  at  the  Hall.  It  used  to  be  no  trouble  to  go 
there."  When  the  Flamsteads  had  left  the  Hall,  and 
were  located,  as  we  have  just  seen,  "  Well,"  Mrs.  West- 
brook  would  ask  of  one  or  another  of  them,  "  do  you 
ever,  in  vour  rounds,  look  in  at  the  Flamsteads  ?  Do 
vou  ever  see  Miss  Flamstead,  or  Mr.  George,  at 
Derby  ?" 

The  answers  to  these  questions  did  not  altogether 
please  her.  They  had  not  been  lately  at  Derby ; 
they  had  not  been  either  at  Mr.  Flamstead's  lately; 
they  were  so  driven  for  time  to  go  to  the  places  where 
they  had  to  preach,  on  Sundays  and  other  evenings; 
that  they  were  often  pinched  for  time,  and  so  on." 

"  My  youngsters,"  thought  Mrs.  Westbrook,  "  I 
must  cure  you  of  this  coldness  towards  old  friends 
under  a  cloud.  That  is  not  the  way  that  I  want  to 
see  religion  taught." 

There  was  about  to  be  a  great  preaching  and  col- 
lection on  the  anniversary  of  the  opening  of  the 
chapel.  The  liberal  contribution  of  Mr.  Flamstead 
being  necessarily  withdrawn,  made  a  zealous  effort 
for  the  chapel  funds  imperative.  Mrs.  Westbrook 
exerted  herself  for  this  purpose  ;  and  the  most  dis- 
tinguished man  of  the  whole  society,  at  that  time, 
the  Rev.  Jabez  Bunting,  was  prevailed  upon  to  come 


128  PRIBNDI  in   mi  i),   y.TC. 

down  to  preach  the  anniversary  sermon.  That  eir. 
cunistance  was  in  itself  success.  People  Booked  ;it 
the  new-:  from  the  whole  country  round.  The 
chapel  was  crowded  to  excess;  and  amongst  the  rest 
were  w  en  almost  every  preacher  of  the  vicinity.  The 
Flamsteads  were  all  in  their  old  seat  ;  not  with  the 
air  of  gay  prosperity  a^  formerly,  but  with  ■  tad, 
subdued,  and  yet  grateful  expression  of  feature  and 
bearing.  The  preacher  spoke  especially  of  the 
changcahleneas  of  fortune,  of  the  deceitfulness  of 
riches — ami  of  that  deceitfulness  being  often  made 
by  Providence,  a  means  of  discovering  the  deceitful- 
ness of  the  world.  He  drew  various  pictures  in 
which  people  <>f  the  world  dealt  deceitfully  "as  a 
summer  brook,  that  by  reason  of  drought  passeth 
away," — and  he  said,  that  Christ,  our  teacher  and 
example,  had  declared,  "  It  shall  not  be  so  among  my 
disciples."  "  By  this  shall  all  men  know,  that  ye  are 
my  disciples,  if  ye  love  one  another."  II.'  thin 
declared  how  earnestly  he  longed  that  the  society, 
and  especially  their  ministers,  would  seize  on  and 
maintain  that  glorious  mark  of  Christian  membership 
and  Christian  contrast  to  the  world.  That  they 
should,  great  and  small,  rich  and  poor,  he  hound 
together  in  a  bond  of  union  stronger  than  all  the 
ruling  powers  of  the  world,  and  triumphant  over  all 
its  guile.  On  his  brethren  of  the  ministry  did  he 
particularly  call  to  maintain  the  gnat  and  godlike 
testimony  of  Divine  love.  "  I  have  sometimes  heard 
with  regret,"  said  he,  "my  brethren  of  the  ministry  say, 
k  we  fear  to  call  too  much  on  such  and  such,  in  his  pre- 
sent circumstances,  lest  we  should  be  burdensome*— 
but,  oil,  my  brethren,  what  burden  is  so  heavy  and 
crushing  as  the  burden  of  unkindness  and  neglect  ! 
If  an  v  one  had  watched  the  countenance  <d' Mrs 


THE    LAST    DROP,    ETC.  129 

Westbrook,  while  the  preacher  was  in  reality  dealing 
these  hard  blows  that  were  felt  in  all  their  weight  in 
certain  bosoms,  they  would  have  seen  a  singular 
expression  of  satisfaction  and  humour  in  her  eyes  and 
about  her  mouth,  which  at  length  vanished  in  a  deep 
and  tender  emotion. 

The  moment  the  service  was  over,  Jabez  Bunting 
descended  the  steps  of  the  pulpit,  and,  going  into  the 
seat  of  the  Flamsteads,  shook  them  all,  with  the 
most  cordial  kindness,  by  the  hands ;  and,  after  he 
had  shook  hands  also  and  greeted  many  others  of  the 
congregation,  he  gave  one  arm  to  Mr.  Flanistead,  and 
the.  other  to  his  wife,  and  walked  on  with  them  to 
Mrs.  AVestb rook's,  where  a  large  company  of  the 
congregation  dined  together.  From  that  day  Mrs. 
Westbrook  had  no  longer  any  need  to  lecture  the 
young  preachers  on  recollecting  our  friends  in 
trouble. 


CHAPTER  X. 


THE    LAST    DROP    TO    THE    FULL    CUP. 

The  fury  of  the  tempest  of  misfortune  seemed  to 
have  spent  itself  on  the  Flamsteads.  They  had 
found  a  humble  but  secure  shelter  from  it,  and  each 
discharging  the  duties  of  his  new  position,  awaited  in 
patient  resignation  the  better  unfoldings  of  the  future. 
But  that  future  was  not  to  arrive  without  a  deeper 
baptism. 

"  Where  is  Robert  Nadell  ?  "  it  began  to  be  fre- 
quently asked  by  one  and  another  of  the  Flamsteads. 
"  I  have  not  seen  him  lately ;  I  do  not  see  him  so 
often  as  formerly  !  " 

'*  Where  is  Robert  Nadell  ?  "  I  have  no  doubt  that 
many   a  voung  reader  has   already  asked.     And    I 


130  tiik  last  DROP 

wish,  with  the  Flamsteada,  that  I  could  give  a  good 
account  of  tin-  young  man. 

In  the  first  outbreak  of  their  trouble  he  had  been 
must  generous  and  sympathising,  moot  kind.  IJo 
was  always  with  them  trying  to  cheer  them  npj 
assuring  them  that  things  would  turn  out  better  than 
they  imagined.  He  had  entreated  his  father  to  come 
forward  and  assist   Mr.  Flamstead  with  money  and 

advice,  and   when   he    found    it    vain,    DO  one  had  so 

deeply  regretted  it  as  himself.  He  spoke  warmly 
and  indignantly  of  the  coldness  and  selfishness  of  tho 

world.  lie  was  always  with  George,  managing  such 
affairs  as  .Mr.  Flamstead  was  prevented  from  attending 
to  by  the  pressing  circumstances  in  which  lie  was 
suddenly  placed,  lie  read  to  Mrs.  Flamstead,  and 
was,  to  all  the  young  children,  like  the  best  of 
brothers.  The  whole  family  was  charmed  by  his 
truth  and  affections.  Betsy  was  prouder  than  ever  of 
her  choice,  and  Nancy  was  most  eloquent  in  his  praise. 
Mrs.  Westbrook  often  said  to  him,  "Mr.  Nadell, 
you  have  acted  like  a  man  !  You  know  uot  how 
much  I  admire  you — but  only  hold  on  !" 

"  Why  do  you  always  say  *  hold  on  ?'  asked  Nancy 
quite  affronted,  ''do  you  think  that  Robert  would 
change?  lias  anyone  behaved  more  nobly,  more 
like  a  true  friend  than  he?" 

"That  is  just  what  1  say,"  Mrs.  Westbrook 
repeatedly  replied  to  Nancy,  "I  admire  Robert 
Nadell's  behaviour  so  much  that  I  am  jealous  lest 
he  should  ever  change." 

"  Change  !  how  you  do  talk,  dear  Mrs.  Westbrook,** 
repeated  Nancy,  "  I  cannot  tell  you  how  disagreeable 
your  words  sound  to  me — for  Heaven's  sake  never 
say  so  again  !  " 

Rut  many  months  were  not  passed  before   poor 


TO    THE   FULL    CUP.  131 

Nancy  thought  often  on  Mrs.  Westbrook's  words, 
and  felt  a  still  colder  feeling  accompany  the  memory 
of  them  than  had  attended  their  utterance.  Robert 
Nadell  certainly  did  not  come  to  see  them  so  often. 
True,  Betsy  was  at  Derby;  George  was  there,  and 
there,  of  course,  Robert  would  go.  They  had 
nothing  to  amuse  him  at  their  poor  house,  no  fields, 
no  woods,  no  shooting,  no  fishing,  no  George,  and 
above  all,  no  Betsy — why  should  he  come  then  so 
much  ? 

But  unfortunately  George,  when  he  came  home, 
began  also  to  ask  the  same  questions.  "  Where  is 
Robert  Nadell  now-a-days?" 

These  questions  were  often  followed  by  a  strange 
silence.  It  was  true  that  Robert  still  did  come  to 
Coldnor — still  did  go  to  Derby,  and  on  such  occasions 
was  most  kind,  most  friendly.  But  somehow  George 
found  and  Nancy  found  that  there  was  not  the  same 
transparency  of  character- — the  openness  of  mind 
about  him.  He  did  not  talk  so  much  of  his  hopes, 
his  views,  his  plans.  Betsy  made  no  such  inquiries ; 
"and,"  said  Nancy,  "surely  if  Robert  did  not  show 
the  same  warmth  of  attachment,  the  same  zeal  as 
formerly,  she*  would.  She  would  tell  me;  we  have 
never  had  any  secrets  and  obscurities  between  us!" 
Then  again  fell  the  strange  words  of  Mrs.  AVestbrook 
on  Nancy's  mind,  and  she  resolved  to  write  to  Betsy 
and  put  some  searching  questions  to  her.  She  did 
so,  and  Betsy  wrote  back  immediately,  "  Oh  no  ! 
Robert  was  not  cold,  not  changed  !  He  was  still  as 
kind,  as  true  as  ever;  but  he  was  in  trouble.  His 
father  was,  as  was  quite  in  keeping  with  his  worldly 
character,  now  quite  opposed  to  the  match.  He  had 
been  very  severe  upon  Robert  regarding  it.  Robert 
had  communicated  all  his  troubles  to  her,  and  she 


132  tiii:  last  nnop 

had  offered  (o  set  him  at  liberty,  cost  what  it  would, 
rather  than  lie  the  cause  of  family  disunion  between 
father  and  son.  Betides,"  said  she,  M  she  vras  proud  ; 
she  was  a  Flamsteed,  and  it  she  wire  not  to  bare  a 
pennyj  would  not  enter  a  family  that  thought  its.  1' 
disgraced  l>y  her." 

This  letter  tilled  Nancy  with  indescribable  tronUa 
She  wan  hurt  that  Robert,  who  was  young  enough  tc 
wait,  ay,  even  for  ten  years,  should  not  quietly  let 
his  Father's  opposition  blow  over,  without  troubling 
poor  Betsy  with  it,  while  she  was  away  from  her 
family.  She,  too,  was  proud,  and  said  indignantly, 
"  What  !  is  not  Betsy  Flamstead  good  enough  for 
that  miserly  curmudgeon  ?  Oh,  I  wish  it  were  but 
me  !  1  would  soon  let  the  old  gentleman  see  that,  if 
my  heart  would  break  for  it;  I  would  refuse  the 
finest  lord  in  the  land,  if  he  would  not  prefer  inc  to 
the  Queen  herself !  But,  alas  for  poor  Betsy  !  Oh ! 
shall  she  be  miserable ! — shall  she  be  despised!  It 
is  a  shame — I  cannot  bear  it.  I  will  away  to  Betsy. 
I  will  see  Robert,  and  talk  to  him — that  1  will." 

Nancy  was,  in  fact,  soon  over  at  Derby  ;  and  soon 
sent  for  Robert  from  his  father's  house.  She  was,  as 
was  inseparable  from  her  nature,  warm,  indignant, 
vehement,  and  full  of  trouble.  She  told  him  that  she 
had  advised  her  sister  to  give  him  up,  if  he  showed 
the  least  coolness,  the  slightest  unworthiness.  She 
was  too  proud  of  her  sister  to  wish  to  see  her  allow 
ing  any  one  to  hold  her,  except  on  the  terms  of 
that  pride  which  any  honourable  man  would  feel  in 
her  attachment.  She  wept  impetuously,  and  then 
declared  that  if  she  could  believe  Robert  Nadell  any- 
thing but  the  true  and  noble  gentleman,  he  had  ever 
showed  himself,  that  was  the  last  word  she  -»-ould 
ever  speak  to  him. 


TO    THE    FULL    CUP.  133 

The  consequence  of  all  this  scene  was,  that  Robert 
Nadell  protested,  and  that  with  tears,  that  never  had 
he  been  more  entirely  attached  to  Betsy  Flamstead  ; 
and  never  had  he  been  more  proud  of  her  than  in  her 
present  situation  ;  never  for  a  moment  had  he  enter- 
tained any  thought  but  that  of  the  profoundest  pride 
in  Irer,  and  affection  for  her.  Nancy  shed  a  fresh 
flood  of  tears,  then  lighted  up  as  rapidly  into  radiant 
smiles,  and  Hubert  departed,  leaving  behind  him  an 
impression  of  the  most  unbroken  truth. 

But  let  us  take  a  peep  at  his  reception  by  his  father 
the  same  evening,  as  he  entered  to  supper.  The 
father  was  a  stout,  gentlemanly  man,  who  had  spent 
ri any  years  in  the  army,  and  still  bore  the  name  of 
Captain  Nadell.  He  was  a  rosy-complexioned, 
cheerful,  and  good-natured  man,  according  to  com- 
mon opinion.  A  very  fluent  man  in  company  :  a 
man  who  had  seen  a  deal,  and  heard  a  deal  of  the 
world.  He  knew,  indeed,  so  much  of  the  world, 
that  he  had  no  idea  of  his  son's  marrying,  except  so 
as  to  ensure  a  good  portion  of  its  favour.  So  long  as 
the  Flamsteads  were  the  Flamsteads  of  Dainsby  Old 
Hall,  it  was  all  very  well.  He  never  asked  the 
reason  of  his  son's  going  there  so  much — it  was  quite 
natural.  George  and  he  were  inseparable  cronies ; 
and,  besides,  there  were  the  Miss  Flamsteads,  very 
charming  girls — no  harm  could  happen  there.  When 
Robert  used  to  return  from  Dainsby,  his  father  used 
to  joke  him  pleasantly,  and  ask  him  how  the  Miss 
Flamsteads  were,  and  especially  Miss  Flamstead,  but 
that  was  all.  He  never  told  his  son  that  he  fancied 
Miss  Flamstead  had  particular  attractions  for  him, 
or  that  it  would  be  agreeable  to  himself  to  see  such 
an  alliance.  When  others  rallied  him  on  Robert 
being  so  much  at  Dainsby,  he  took  it  all  very  smil- 

N 


t«M  Tin:  last   DBOf 

ingly;  "Young  people,"  he  said,  "would  flock  togethei 
■ — it  was  all  very  natural."  Thai  was  all  tin-  per- 
spicacity that  Captain  Nadell  gave  to  his  wishes. 

But  now,  since  the  fall  of  the  Flamsteads,  it  was 
with  a  very  different  greeting  that  Robert  was  received 
from  his  visits  to  them.  M  Well,  Bob,  where  have  yon 
been  ? — not  to  the  Flamsteads  again,  I  hope  You 
surely  are  not  so  green  as  that.  JTou  have  no  idea, 
I  suppose,  of  marrying  into  a  rained  Family,  of 
course,  you  know  that  to  marry  me  of  such  B  family, 
is  to  marry  all — a  pretty  marriage  settlement,  indeed. 
Let  me  just  tell  you,  Bob,  it  is  easier  to  get  into  a 
trap  than  to  get  out  of  it.  But  if  you  get  into  a 
marrying  trap,  with  a  needy  woman,  there  are  just 
four  ways  of  getting  out  of  it  :  first,  by  undergoing  a 
good  horse-whipping;  secondly,  by  having  a  bullet  put 
through  your  head  ;  thirdly,  by  paying  a  good  sum  of 
money;  and  fourthly,  and  lastly,  by  marrying,  which, 
in  BUch  a  ease,  is  by  far  the  worst  alternative  of  all." 

To  this  exposition  of  parental  and  practical  wisdom, 
Robert  ventured  to  say  something  about  old  friends  ; 
of  the  meanness  of  deserting  such  in  trouble  ;  of  the 
great  expectations  of  the  Flamsteadd  still.  To  which 
his  father  only  replied,  with  a  knowing  smile,  "That 

a  green  goose  was  reckoned  a  very  l' 1  sort  of  thing, 

but  that  such  a  green  goose  as  a  young  man  stuffed 
with  all  these  old-world  and  romantic  notions,  he 
never  wished  to  see  at  his  table.  To  be  plain,"  con- 
cluded he,  "do  just  as  you  please,  Bob;  marry  a 
mantua-maker  if  you  like,  but  don't  expect  that  one 
penny  of  my  money  will  be  bestowed  on  such  an  a--!  " 
.  Such  was  the  lecture  which  was  bestowed  on 
Robert  Nadell  on  that  evening  after  his  affecting 
interview  with  Miss  Nancy,  and  which  was,  with  much 
other  banter,  often  repeated  to  him.  But  this  was  not 


TO    TIIE    FULL   CUP.  135 

all ;  the  cunning  father  understood  military  tactics 
well  enough,  to  turn  many  another  battery  of  social 
ridicule  upon  his  sentimental  son,  in  the  circle  of 
their  friends.  He  sent  him  to  make  a  tour  amongst 
his  numerous  relations  in  different  parts  of  the  king- 
dom, and  earnestly  desired,  by  private  letters,  that 
Robert  should  be  exposed  to  the  most  dangerous 
assaults  from  the  ranks  of  beauty,  wit,  wealth,  and 
accomplishments. 

Shall  we  confess  that  this  succeeded  ?  Shall  we 
add  another  to  the  list  of  faithless  lovers?  The  fact 
is  stronger  than  our  inclination,  and  we  are  forced  to 
sa;  that  Robert  Nadell,  to  use  the  mildest  term,  was 
a  weak  young  man.  He  was  like  a  thousand  others, 
who  mean  weH,  exceedingly  well  ;  who  would  never 
fall  if  they  were  never  tempted  ;  who  would  even  go 
right  and  act  nobly,  if  they  were  always  surrounded 
by  the  good  and  the  generous  ;  but  who  are  too  weak 
of  nature  or  of  purpose  to  resist  the  influence  of  those 
about  them.  Before  that  summer  was  over,  Betsy 
Flamstead,  in  reply  to  a  letter  to  Robert'  Nadell, 
complaining  of  never  hearing  from  him,  received  one 
from  him,  dated  from  the  north  of  England,  express- 
ing all  his  old  affection,  but  confessing  that  such  was 
the  opposition  of  his  father  and  friends,  that  he  saw 
nothing  but  ruin  for  them  both  in  such  a  union,  and 
therefore,  with  the  persuasion  that  he  should  never  be 
happy  again,  he  thought  it  was  better  that  they  should 
for  ever  abandon  their  long-cherished  hopes. 

Sick  at  heart  as  poor  Betsy  Flamstead  was,  she 
nevertheless  wrote  a  letter  in  reply,  overflowing  with 
the  most  generous  sentiments,  and  bidding  her  lover, 
with  her  warmest  blessing,  be  as  free  as  the  winds; 
and  within  a  month  received  the  certain  intelligence 
that  Robert  Nadell  was  about  to  be  married  to  a 


MM  THE   LAST    DROP 

wealthy  heirens,  of  whose  beauty  and  wit  fame  spoke 
in  most  eulogistic  terms. 

The  poor  girl  had   batted  In  her  bleeding  bosom 

the  dissolution  of  bet  engagement  with  her  faithless 
Iuv.t;  and  now  the  news  of  his  perfidy  cam*  to  her, 
mingled  with  indignant  upbraiding!  of  nun,  from  bar 
own  family,  and  especially  from  Nancy,     bain  would 

she  have  defended  him  to  her  own  heart  and  to  them. 

Unfit  was  in  vain.    Hie  conduct  bad  been  cruel  beyond 

words,  and  she   brooded   on  it  over   her  daily  work, 
and  laboured   on  with  a  feeling  that   could  not   long 
endure.     It  was  not  many  weeks  before  Mrs.  West- 
brook  was   informed   by  her  friend,    Mrs.    bernhead, 
that  something  was  sadly  amiss  with  Miss  Flamstead  ; 
there  was  some  heavy  trouble  on  her  mind,  she  was 
sure,  and  she  really  was  not  fit  for  her  daily  business. 
Mrs.   Westbrook  only   too  well  divined   the  cause. 
She  hastened  to  Derby,  and  was  shocked  to  see  the 
change  in  poor  Betsy.     She  took  her  home  with  her 
immediately,  and  tried  to  comfort   and  amuse  her, 
but  Betsy  begged  to  be  allowed  to  go  to  her  own  home, 
to   her   parents  and   sisters,  where  she  still  rapidly 
faded  away  under  the  most  fatal  species  of  consump- 
tion—that of  the  heart.      Poverty  and   daily  Labour 
she  had    borne    like    a  heroine— borne    it    bravely, 
cheerfully  ;  but  to  feel  that  she  was  despised,  deserted, 
for  her  poverty,  by  him  on  whom  her  heart  rested  as 
on  her  faith,  6tung  her  to  the  very  heart's  con — was 
like  the  rude  hand  which  breaks  the  green  corn-stalks, 
60  that  nothing  can  ever  raise  them  again. 

The  home  of  the  Flamsteads  was  now  truly  a  home 
of  desolation.  All  former  troubles  became  forgotten 
in  this  cruel  sin  against  one  of  the  gentlest  spirits  that 
ever  appeared  on  the  earth.  This  admirable  daughter 
and  sister,  who  had  surrendered  all  her  bright  pro- 


TO    THE    FULL   CUP.  137 

8pccts  almost -without  a  sigh,  who  had  submitted  to 
daily  labour  as  if  she  had  been  born  to  it,  to  lift  off, 
as  much  as  possible,  the  burden  of  care  from  her 
parents — to  be  thus  rudely  snatched  away  from  life, 
for  that  was  too  evident,  by  one  who  had  so  well- 
known  her,  and  all  her  love  for  him — it  was  bitter 
beyond  words. 

George  vowed  the  most  deadly  vengeance.  It  was 
in  vain  that  Nancy,  whose  quick  resentment  had 
tended  in  no  small  degree  to  inflame  his,  now  terrified 
at  the  effect  of  her  words,  implored  him  not  to  do 
anything  which  might  increase  the  affliction  of  the 
family.  It  was  in  vain  that  father,  mother,  and 
even  Betsy,  to  whom  suspicion  of  George's  intentions 
somehow  made  their  way,  endeavoured  to  lay  him 
under  a  promise  not  to  meet  Robert  Nadell  in  any 
manner — it  was  well-known  that  he  wrote  to  him, 
sought  to  ^et  to  his  presence,  and  heaped  all  sorts  of  in- 
sults on  him ;  to  which  he  received  only  for  answer,  that 
J\ir.  Robert  Nadell  would  on  no  account  go  out  with 
him.  He  acknowledged  that  he  had  given  him  and 
his  family  sufficient  cause  of  resentment  against  him  ; 
and  he  would  not  enter  into  any  arrangement  that 
might  endanger  his  adding  the  most  fatal  increase  to 
the  sorrow  he  had  already  occasioned  them. 

These  circumstances,  however,  tended  to  aggravate 
in  no  small  degree  the  misery  of  the  Flamsteads. 
From  day  to  day  Betsy  visibly  declined,  and  the  fears 
which  haunted  the  whole  house  of  some  dreadful 
affray  between  the  two  young  men,  hung  like  a 
thunder-cloud  ready  to  burst  upon  the  devoted  family 
with  more  mischief.  At  length,  in  the  last  stage  of 
failing  strength,  Betsy  seized  her  brother's  hand  as  he 
one  day  sate  by  her  bed-side,  and  prayed  him,  as 
he  valued  her  love,  and  wouli   wish   to   cherish  her 

n  2 


I3fl  the  last  vnnr 

memory  in  peace  end  with  a  calm  conscience,  that  In 
woold  promise  fur  her  final  peeee,  promise  fur  her 
sake,  ami  fur  the  sake  of  thoee  religion!  prineiplea  in 
which  they  had  all  been  bmnght  up,  ami  with  which  all 
her  hope  of  happiness  ami  of  re-union  wee  bound  np, 
t<>  renounce  his  vows  of  vengeance.  The  acene,  th* 
place  were  too  Bolemn  and  sacred  in  their  claims  to 
be  withstood.  The  sister  who  had  been  his  com- 
panion in  childhood,  who  hail  grown  up  with  him  as 
a  shape,  ol  joy  and  generous  affection,  now  lay  before 
him  pale  as  the  lily  of  spring,  BDgelic  us  that  heaven 
to  which  Bhe  was  speedily  to  be  summoned  ;  and  he, 
bent  down  with  a  passion  of  tears,  vowed  to  fulfil 
her  desires,  ay,  under  all  circumstances,  be  they 
what  they  might. 

That  very  evening,  as  George  strode  hack  with  a 
sad  heart  towards  Derby,  in  a  deep,  hollow  way  on  a 
solitary  moor,  he  met  suddenly,  and  face  to  face, 
Robert  Nadell.  The  two  young  men  paused  and 
looked  into  each  other's  face.  There  was  a  deep 
silence — both  were  pale  as  death.  At  length  Robert 
Nadell  said,  "I  am  unarmed— if  you  mean  to  fulfil 
your  vows,  I  tell  you  once  more  I  will  not  strike 
you!"  There  came  another  tow,  like  a  lightning 
flash,  across  the  mind  of  George  :  "  You  have  already 
done  enough  ! "  he  said  in  a  deep  voice,  and  strode  on 
his  way. 

But  these  two  young  men  were  doomed  to  meet 
once  more,  and  under  still  more  striking  circum- 
stances. 

It  was  not  many  days  before   the  hell  at   Dainsby 
Church   tolled    for  the    passing   Boul   of  a  maiden   of 
twenty-two — they  were  the  years  of  li  i-y  Flamstead 
and  every  villager  said  at  once,  ''She  is  gone  !  "   They 
were  right :  and  a  week  afterwards  the  hell  was  tolling 


TO   THE   FULL  CUP.  139 

again  to  call  her  to  her  grave,  to  take  her  place  beside 
her  ancestors  who  had  gone  down  to  the  dust,  most  of 
theiii  in  a^e,  and  with  hearts  that  had  slumbered  as 
it  were,  along  the  path  of  life — not  like  her  been  cut 
down  in  her  bloom  by  the  sickle  of  unkindmss. 

With  tlie  simplicity  of  the  place  the  funeral  train 
■rent  over  hill  and  dale  pursuing  a  narrow  bridle-road 
■that  led  more  directly,  and,  indeed,  with  less  observa- 
tion to  her  native  village.  Far  as  they  had  had  to 
come,  her  coffin  was  borne  on  men's  shoulders,  and 
three  sets  of  bearers  relieved  each  other.  They  went 
on  to  the  singing  of  a  psalm,  and  there  was  something 
dc-i]  v  affecting  as  over  the  brown  heath,  and  along  the 
wood-  side,  now  brilliant  with  the  hues  of  autumn,  that 
long  sable  train  was  seen  by  the  solitary  farmer  in  his 
fields,  moving  in  the  stillness  of  that  retired  region, 
and  the  mournful  cadence  of  the  psalm  fell  distantly 
on  his  ear. 

But  the  funeral  train  had  now  reached  a  long  nar- 
row wood  that  filled  up  a  deep  valley  between  hilly 
fields.  It  had  descended  into  this  glen,  that  went  by 
the  name  of  Egriff  Dingle,  and  the  bearers  of  the 
coffin  were  justabout  to  issue  forthon  the  other  side  into 
the  open  fields,  when  a  horseman  came  at  a  rapid  trot 
round  a  bushy  knoll  and  halted  elose  to  the  gate, 
which  was  held  open  by  a  tall  man  who  stood  with  h» 
back  to  the  horseman.  The  rider  with  the  universal 
feeling  of  reverence,  on  such  occasions  in  the  country, 
instantly  took  off  his  hat,  and  sate  on  his  horse  bare- 
headed. But  what  was  the  astonishment  of  the  pall- 
bearers  as  they  glanced  at  him  and  saw  that  he  was — 
Robert  Nadell. 

He  was  pale  as  death  itself — there  was  an  expres- 
aion  of  astonishment  and  even  horror  in  his  counte- 
nance that  could  not  be  mistaken.  It  was  evident  that 


740  rHE   iA.tr   drop 

tli in  waa  mi  premeditated  encounter — it  was  at  <mi»i 
unexpected  !>_v  him  and  astounding,     it  seemed 

horse  ami  man   were  fixed   to  the  spot.     The  black 
procaarion  came  up  the  Bteep  ascent  out  of  the  glen, 
every  figure  stooping,  an  men  do  who  climb  a  ■ 
path,  ami  every  one.  on  reaching  the  gate,  looking  up 
mid  glaring  with  surprise  on  the  horseman. 

It  would  require  the  pen  of  an  archangel  to  describe 
all  that  was  expressed  and  fell  by  every  one  of  those 
successive  gazers.  Who  shall  describe  tin-  effect  of  the 
quick,  momentary  glance  of  George  Flamstead,  of  the 
woe-stricken  paleness  and  meek  sorrow  of  the  father  I 
If  a  file  of  deadly  enemies,  each  armed  with  a  loaded 
musket,  had  issued  from  the  glen  and  fixed  their  eyes 
on  Robert  Nadell,  it  would  have  been  nothing  to  the 
horror  which  then  seized  him.  Years  of  conflicting 
agonies  withered  him  up,  as  the  glances  of  these 
injured  beings  fell  upon  him.  lie  felt  that  scorn, 
contempt,  and  hatred  were  hut  a  faint  portion  of  the 
feelings  that  overwhelmed  him.  His  heart,  his  life, 
his  conscience  seemed  to  him  laid  hare  to  the  eves  of 
every  one  that  passed,  and  that  every  one  in  succes- 
sion pronounced  his  eternal  doom.  If  the  earth 
would  have  opened  its  mouth  and  swallowed  him  up, 
he  would  have  blessed  it.  But  the  procession  went 
on  ;  the  psalm  again  sounded  its  mournful  melody, 
and  there  Bate  the  tall  horseman  as  if  turned  to  stone. 

The  tall  man  was  about  to  close  the  gate  when  he 
too  became  aware  of  the  horseman.  The  man  was 
Michael  Shaw.  He  gazed  at  the  figure  of  horror  for 
a  moment,  and  then  said  solemnly — "  Robert  Nadell, 
come  on,  the  way  is  open.  She  whom  thou  hast 
murdered  is  going  to  her  rest — but  here  is  thy  way — 
into  the  world  to  which  thou  belongest.  Come  on, 
Robert   Nadell ;    and,   dreadful  as  is  this  righteous 


TO   THK    FULL  CUP.  141 

Judgment,  believe  that  God  wills  not  thy  utter 
destruction.  His  hand  it  is  plainly  that  h«s  led  thee 
up  here  at  this  moment,  for  I  feel  sure  that  thou 
wouldst  of  thy  own  will  have  been  far  enough  off  to- 
day :  and  when  that  hand  lies  heavy  on  thee,  as  it 
will  for  years,  day  and  night,  summer  and  winter,  in 
the  field  and  in  the  city-street,  let  it  have  its  way 
even  when  thou  groanest  undei  it,  for  it  surely  means 
to  punish  only  to  be  merciful,  or  it  would  have  left 
thee  to  the  last  and  the  long  reckoning !  Go, 
Robert  Nadell,  and  if  it  can,  peace  go  with  thee  ;  but 
when  wilt  thou  have  a  peace  like  yon  sleeping 
mai-.len  ?  " 

With  a  sudden  glance  at  the  speaker,  as  of  a  mad- 
man's, Robert  Nadell  struck  his  spurs  into  the 
flanks  of  his  steed,  and  the  animal  snorting,  dashed 
down  the  glen,  and  Michael  Shaw,  pausing  a  moment, 
watched  him  gallop  onwards,  till  a  sudden  sweep  hid 
him  from  the  view. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

JOHN     FOX    AGAIN. 

It  was  at  this  crisis  that  Mr.  John  Fox  arrived  at 
Leniscar.  The  winter^  had  passed  over  since  the 
events  which  we  last  related.  The  Flamsteads  w 
their  little  cottage  were  living  still  and  retired,  and 
bearing  with  resignation  all  the  trials  with  which  a 
wise  Providence  had  seen  meet  to  visit  them.  The 
turf  had  grown  green  on  Betsy  Flamstead's  grave, 
and  the  violets,  which  loving  hands  had  planted  there, 
filled  the  air  with  their  fragrance ;  and  the  yet  un- 
soiled  garland  of  white  flowers,  as  was  the  village 
custom,  swung  from  the  chaucel-roof  above  the  pew 
of  the  Flamsteads,  commemorating  lier  early  death. 


142  John    fox   again. 

( >  1 « 1  Gideon  Spine  was  .--till  established  at  Daii, 
Old  Hall,  with  hia  wife  mil  Family,  appearing  in 
that  quiet  house  a-  much  in  place  as  so  many  owls  »>r 
jack-daws  "r  rata  that  had  got  in  since  it  was  &<  serted. 
Gideon  lull  do  communication  with  the  inhabitants 
of  the  village,  except  regularly  every  Monday  morn> 

fag  tO   call   at    the    COttagCS    for   tin;    Week's  rent.       He 

seemed  to  grow  every  day  more  and  more  surly  and 
crabbed,  ami  had  already  heaped  upon  himself  a 
pretty  good  Bhare  of  the  people's  hatred,  about  which, 
however,  In-  appeared  very  little  to  concern  himself. 
In  the  meantime,  his  master,  Mr.  Screw  Pepper,  Had 
been  !>usy  with  tin-  estate,  but  had  brought  affairs  as 
little  apparently  towards  a  termination  as  when  lie 
first  g  .t  thrin  into  his  hands.  There  had  been  no  li  n 
than  five  years  expended  on  the  settlement  of  the 
bankrupt's  concerns  :    there  had  been  no  less  than 

seven  sales  advertised  of  the  property,  in  one  form  ami 
another,  all  of  which  had  come  to  nothing.  In  one 
case,  there  was  the  confident  prospect  pleaded,  of  a 
sale  by  private  contract,  ami,  therefore,  the  puhlic 
sale  was  postponed.  In  another  instance,  it  was 
declared  that  the  property  was  actually  disposed  of 
by  private  contract  ;  yet  in  awhile  it  was  again  made 
I  known  that  the  purchaser  had,  after  Bigning  the 
agreement,  run  off  from  his  bargain  on  gome  <iU-atis- 
faction  or  other  ;  there  had  been  legal  process  resorted 
to,  to  compel  the  completion  of  his  purchase,  but  it 
had  not  succeeded.  The  rest  of  the  sales  did  not  obtain 
a  hid  equal  to  the  valuation,  and  therefore  the  pro- 
perty had  been  bought  in  for  the  court  by  some  one 
appointed  for  the  purpose,  on  the  plea  that  it  would 
be  unjust  to  the  claims  of  the  creditors  to  let  the 
estate  go  on  these  terms. 

Ali  this,  people  saw  very  well,  was  making  dread- 


JOHN    FOX    AGAIN.  H3 

ful  havoc  with  the  property,  by  heaping  a  monstrous 
load  of  legal  charge  and  other  expenses  upon  it.  In 
the  meantime  Mr.  Screw  Pepper  seemed  to  flourish 
wonderfully.  He  had  removed  into  a  larger  house, 
drove  a  handsomer  carriage,  with  a  full-sized  and  full- 
liveried  servant,  and  was  become  much  more  lofty 
And  consequential  in  his  bearing. 

It  seemed  to  be  extremely  unpleasant  to  him  that 
Mr.  Flamstead  had  obtained  the  humble  employ- 
ment that  he  had.  He  determined  to  annoy  him  tc 
the  utmost.  He  declared  that  a  bankrupt,  whose 
affairs  were  not  settled,  could  not  have  a  house  well- 
furmshed  without  being  called  upon  to  account  for 
tie  possession  of  so  much  property,  and  accordingly 
he  did  call  upon  him  for  such  an  explanation.  Mr 
Flamstead  appeared  before  the  commissioners  with 
the  utmost  composure,  and  showed  with  the  most 
cool  and  perfect  candour  that  every  piece  of  furniture 
which  stood  in  his  house  was  a  generous  loan  of  the 
Widow  Westbrook.  This  was  a.  poser  for  Mr.  Screw 
Pepper  ;  but  it  only  seemed  to  fill  him  with  a  more 
bitter  spirit.  He  demanded  an  account  of  Mr.  Flam- 
stead's  salary,  which,  besides  the  house,  was  one 
pound  a  week;  and  he  declared  that  he  considered 
this  too  much  for  a  bankrupt,  whose  effects  were  of 
such  trivial  value  that  they  were  actually  unsaleable, 
and  that  it  was  but  fitting  that  he  paid  seven  shillings 
per  week  to  the  account  of  the  creditors.  The  piti- 
fulness  of  this  demand  was  too  much  for  even  the 
moot  sordid  assignees,  with  the  exception  of  Stocks 
and  Snape,  who  thought  it  a  burning  shame  that  a 
man  who  owed  so  much  money  as  Mr.  Flamstead  did, 
should  be  living  in  so  much  luxury  ;  these  worthy 
fellows,  by-the-by,  being  annually  in  full  receipt  of 
interest  of  the  whole  of  their  debt  on  the  estate. 


Ui  jorm  fox  again. 

Mr.  Screw   Pepper   waa   not,    in  the  meantime*, 

beaten  from  his  purpose  <>i  petty  annoyance  <>f  a  nun 
whom  be  saw  bo  thoroughly  despised  him,  and  whom 
]»<•  knew  he  was  bo  deeply  robbing  and  injuring.     He 

Mated  to  the  assignees  that  Mr.  Flamatead  was  not 
only  in  the  receipt  of  one  pound  a  week,  dear  <<f  all 

reduction,  hut  that  he  had  every  reason  to  helievo 
that  he  had  the  assistance  of  friends  ami  children. 
The  children  lie  had  out  at  constant  employment, 
who,  as  they  were  single  persons,  no  doubt  could  and 
would  confer  part  of  their  gains  on  their  father.  IIo 
called  on  .Mr.  Flamstead  to  make  a  full  disclosure, 
on  oath,  of  all  such  receipts.  Mr.  Flamstead  declared 
himself  perfectly  willing  to  do  so ;  but  this  was 
warmly  opposed  by  the  assignees,  except  the  two 
notorious  ones,  Stocks  and  Snape,  who  were  as  greedy 
for  this  disclosure  as  if  they  were  losing  the  whole 
interest,  and  were  sure  to  lose  the  whole  principal 
also.  But  Mr.  Screw  Pepper  had  not  yet  done; 
there  was  the  old  subject  of  the  Clockmaker's  wealth. 
He  contended  that,  as  the  property  was  actually  un- 
saleable, it  was  absolutely  necessary  that  Mr.  Flam- 
stead Bhould  make  over  his  reversionary  claim  on  this 
property,  and  in  this  demand  he  was  strongly  sup- 
ported by  the  assignees.  But  Mr.  Flamstead  as 
steadily  refused.  He  declared,  whatever  might  be 
said  of  the  unsaleablcness  of  the  estate,  he  knevr 
very  well  that  it  was  worth  fasr  more  than  their 
demands  upon  it.  He  called  upon  the  assignees  to 
answer  honestly  whether  every  creditor  was  not 
annually  and  duly  paid  tho  interest  on  his  debt ;  and 
he  demanded  that  he  should  be  put  into  possession 
of  his  own  property,  out  of  which  he  had  been  so 
unjustly  driven  ;  and  that  he  would  engage  to  pay 
every  man  his  own.     He  said  that  now  it  was  very 


JOIIN   FOX    AGAIN.  145 

different  to  what  it  was  when  the  war  had  just 
ceased.  The  corn-bill  had  now  taken  effect,  and  a 
high  value  was  again  given  to  landed  produce ;  and 
that,  if  the  estate  were  fairly  brought  to  the  hammer, 
it  would  not  only  sell  for  as  much  as  it  owed,  but 
would  leave  a  handsome  surplus.  Then  there  were 
the  minerals — he  had  been  told  by  Mr.  Screw  Pepper 
that  they  were  of  very  little  value — that  no  one  would 
offer  more  than  the  merest  trifle  for  them ;  and  that 
while  they  found  it  impossible,  when  they  were 
offered  with  the  land,  to  obtain  a  bidding  equal  to  the 
amount  for  the  whole,  on  the  other  hand,  when  they 
reserved  the  minerals  for  separate  sale,  »o  one  would 
bid  at  all  for  the  land,  declaring,  very  naturally,  that 
the  value  of  the  land  would  be  in  great  measure  de- 
stroyed, if  the  proprietors  of  the  minerals  could  come 
at  any  time  and  delve  and  turn  it  all  up,  topsy- 
turvy. 

"  Yet,  notwithstanding  this  statement,"  said  Mr. 
Flamstead,  "I  have  heard,  from  good  authority, 
that  Mr.  Pepper  now  offers  the  minerals  by  private 
contract,  at  a  price  equal  to  that  of  the  estate  itself; 
in  fact,  at  such  an  extravagant  price  as  totally  pre- 
vented their  sale."  He  ended  by  calling  upon  Mr. 
Pepper  to  answer,  before  the  assignees,  to  this 
charge. 

On  this,  Mr.  Screw  Pepper  turned  red,  pale-yellow, 
and  then  broke  forth  into  the  most  vehement  denials 
of  the  truth  of  these  abominable  attacks,  as  he  called 
them,  on  his  character,  heaping  on  Mr.  Flamstead 
the  most  opprobrious  terms. 

The  assignees  were  compelled  to  interfere,  but  Mr. 
Flamstead  coolly  and  steadily  adhered  to  his  point, 
and  offered  to  bring  forward  respectable  evidence  of 
what  he  asserted.  Adding,  moreover,  that  as  it 
regarded  the  property  of  the  Clockmaker,  that  even 
were  the  estate  deficient,  which  he  altogether  denied, 
he  never  would  consent  to  convey  away  that  which 
Avas  not  his  own,  which  indeed  might  still  be  the 
10 


146  JOHX    FOX    A  < ;  A  I  V . 

property  of  a  living  man,  and  whioh  might  never 
beoome  lii-,  but  hi>  children's,  who  had  no  concern 
what  ith  their  father's  management  of  I » i -* 

te,  nor  "  ponsible  for  bia  deficiencies,  nor 

called  ap  >n  by  law  or  jnstioe  to  make  il  of 

fnnda  famished  to  them  by  a  totally  different  per- 
son, the  waste  <>r  imprudence  of  their  parent.  It 
was  quite  enongh  thai  they  would  derive  nothing 
from  thai  parent. 

This  spirited  conduct  of  Mr.  I  .  I,  and  the 

true  character  which  he  had  dared  to  give  of  the 
proceedings  of  Screw  Pepper,  did  not  toil  to  till  that 
person  ige  w?tb  the  mosl  diabolical  spirit  of  r< 
lie  vowed  i  •.  nol  alone  for  himself,  bnt  his 

two  friends  Stocks  and  Bnape,  who  gloated  over 
the  very  idea  of  it,  saying,  "Ay,  that's  right! 
trounce  him  I  trounce  him!  Bring  bis  proud  stomach 
down !  " 

The  very  first  steps  towards  Mr.  Pepper's  revenge 
was  to  mn  Qate  the  i  state  for  ever,  and  to  render  it 
impossible  that  itshould  ever  revert  to  the  Flam- 
steads.  Ee  Stated  therefore  to  the  assignees  that  as 
it  had  been  found  fruitless  to  attempt  to  sell  the 
estate  as  a  whole,  if  was  now  necessary  to  adopt 
another  plan.  The  estate  must  be  divi  led  into 
many  lots,  each  of  which  would  be  sold  separately 
as  circumstances  might  dictate.  Thus  people  of 
less  property  might  be  accommodated  ;  farmers  who 
might  wish  to  buy  a  single  farm  to  live  upon  ;  peo- 
ple who  did  not  want  estates  hut  only  investments. 
The  house  had  better,  as  an  incumbrance  to  any 
one  lot,  be  at  once  sold  in  lots  for  building  mate- 
rials, and  E  >  pulled  down  ;md  done  away  with. 

It  was  in  pursuance  of  this  malicious  policy  that 
it  had  been,  as  already  Stated,  found  by  Mr.  John 
Fox  measured  out  into  sundry  lots,  and  those  lots 
chalked  upon  them  in  huge  figures;  a  fact  which 
had  tilled  him  with  such  a  (it  of  indignation,  and 
had  gent   him  off  in  such  a  hurry  to  Derby.     But 


JOHN  FOX   AGAIN.  147 

before  we  proceed  to  inquire  what  were  the  results 
of  his  expedition  to  Derby  with  Mick  Shay,  we 
must  say  a  few  words. 

From  the  first  of  Mr.  Fox's   coming  into   this 
neighbourhood  he  had  been  particularly  inquisitive 
after  Mr.  Flamstead.      He  seemed  to  cherish  the 
most  agreeable  recollections  of  the  times,  that  he 
had  spent  at  Dainsby  with  his  friend  the  clock- 
maker.     He  heard  with  deep  sympathy  the  story 
of  the  misfortunes  of  the  family,  and  they  were 
often  a  subject  of  conversation  between  him,  Tom 
Fletcher,  and  Mick  Shay.     He  listened  with  evident 
strong  feeling  to  the  relation  of  the  mournful  fate 
of  Miss  Flamstead,  and  made  Mick  Shay  point  out 
to  him  one  Sunday  soon  after,  the  grave  of  this 
amiable  young  lady.     He  made  Mick  also  introduce 
him  to  the  Widow  Westbrook,  to  whom  he  spoke 
in  warm  terms  of  praise  for  her  genuine  friendship 
to  the  unfortunate  family.     He   delighted  to  hear 
Mrs.   Westbrook  talk  of  the  Flamsteads,   and  she, 
in  her  turn,  was  also  surprised  to  find  how  much 
he  really  knew  of  the  family  history.     It  had  been, 
he  said,  a  favourite  topic  of  the  Clockmakers  in 
their   rambles  when   in   this  neighbourhood.     He 
went  one  day  also  in  Derby  to  see  George  Flam- 
stead at  the  agricultural  implement-makers ;  saw  a 
■  wonderful  likeness  to  the  clockmaker  in  him,  when 
the   Clockmaker   was   of  the   same   age.     He   ap- 
plauded George,  whom  he  found  shaping  a  piece  of 
wood  with  an  adze,  with  as  much  skill  and  as  little 
false  shame  as  the  most  regularly  educated  work- 
man could  possess,  for  his  manly  resolve  to  main- 
tain himself  by  honest  labour.     It  was  just  what 
his  uncle  the  Clockmaker  did,  and  he  trusted  he 
would  find  it  as  fortunate  as  the  Clockmaker  had 
done. 

"But,"  said  George,  "I  do  not  find  that  the 
Clockmaker  was  so  particularly  fortunate.  That  he 
entered  into  an  honest  trade  was  sensible  and  manly, 


148  90m    FOX    AGAIN*. 

but  to  leave  bia  business  In  Its  prosperity  and  take 
himself  off,  Heaven  knows  whet  nut  i-uite  so 

great  an  evidence  of  sense." 

"There  yon  are  right,'1  Bald  John  Fox;  "the 
CHookmaker's  fate  is  s  mysterions  one;  Ui*  will 
truai  thai  in  thai  partionlar  yonrs  will  be  different. 
I  like  yow  observations,  young  man.  And  pray 
what  do  yon  propose  to  do  when  yon  enter  into 
bnsinesa  for  yourself! 

George  raised  himself,  and  looking  al  the  stranger 
with  a  peculiar  expression  said,  "That's  a  veryplain 
question,  I  may  say,  tor  one  whom  I  never  saw  be- 
fore; bnl  as  I  see  thai  you  take  sum,'  interesl  in  our 
family  I  will  answer  it  as  frankly  as  it  is  put.  My 
movements  must  be  regulated  by  those  of  my  family 
in  a  greal  measure.  It  Is  my  first  and  bounden 
duty  to  contribute  to  their  comfort.  They  have 
much  at  stake,  and  much  to  lose  liere.  They  have 
many  children  whose  interests  and  happiness  through 

life  depend  upon  them,  and  they  have  many  and 
subtle  enemies,  who  aro  on  the  watch  to  sua; eh 
away  from  them  every  means  of  future  support  both 

for  thorn  and  their  children.  I  know  not  how  far  I 
may  be   able  to    defend  or   assist    them,  for  I    know 

little  of  the  law,  and  we  have  Jew  relatives  who  seem 
disposed  to  standby  us  in  the  assertion  of  our  rights; 
but  1  will  do  what  I  can,  more  or  less,  and  I  feel  that 
1  am  called  upon  to  be  always  at  hand  and  alwa;  S 
on  the  watch  to  be  useful.1' — M  That  is  well  said," 
rejoined  John  Fox;  "but  were  you  not  held  bysuoh 
considerations  what  course  would  you  choose  for 
yourself" — "  For  myselfl "  said  George  ;  "  for  my- 
self there  is  but  one  choice — away  to  America.  Here, 
to  succeed,  wants  money,  friends,  a  peculiar  suspi- 
ciousness of  fortune ;  but  there  I "  said  he,  his  eyes 
flashing  with  enthusiasm,  "this  axe  would  be  enough 
for  me,  I  would  labour  till  I  had  some  hoard  of  dol- 
lars, and  then  the  far  west  should  find  me  a  field  of 
action,  in  which  1  should  not  fear  to  lind  a  new  and 


JOHN   FOX    AGAIN.  1-19 

ample  estate.  What  cannot  youth,  enterprise,  study 
and  perseverance  accomplish,  if  they  have  hut  such 
an  ample  field  ?  " — "  There  spoke  the  Clockmaker 
again,"  said  Mr.  Fox,  smiling.  "  How  do  we  see, 
every  day,  how  much  easier  it  is  to  see  other  peo- 
ple's faults  than  our  own !  It  was  but  just  now  that 
you  blamed  the  Clockmaker  for  the  very  spirit  of  en- 
terprise which  you  now  show  yourself  so  entirely  to 
possess." — "  Yes,  but,"  said  George,  "  tbere  is  a  dif- 
ference. If  I  had  here  a  business  like  the  Olockma- 
ker's,  I  should  certainly  stay  and  make  the  most  of 
it.  The  Clockmaker  abandoned  both  that  and  a 
really  independent  fortune  to  vanish — Heaven  knows 
■whither!  " — "That  is  true  indeed,"  said  the  old 
gentleman.  "  He  might  be  of  great  service  were  he 
here  now.  But  if  he  be  not  here  there  is  a  friend  of 
his  ;  and  I  say  cheer  up,  George  Flamstead ;  I  like 
your  spirit  much,  and  there  may  come  a  day  when  I 
may  be  able  to  be  of  use  to  you." 

He  shook  George  cordially  by  the  hand,  bade  him 
be  sure  to  go  to  see  him  when  he  went  to  Lenis- 
car,  and  went  away  leaving  George  full  of  strange 
speculations. 

"  This  man,"  said  he  to  himself,  "  seems  a  very 
sensible  person.  He  seems  to  like  our  family ;  he 
may  one  day  be  of  use,  he  says,  and  he  is  rich,  Mick 
Shay  says.  Ay,  what  use  might  not  such  a  man  be 
of,  if  he  were  but  such  a  fine  fellow  as  one  reads  of 
in  books.  I  should  up  and  say  to  him  at  once, 
'  Here  is  a  glorious  opportunity  to  testify  an  old  re- 
gard for  a  fallen  family.  What  are  a  few  hundred 
pounds  to  you  ?  Stand  by  this  Mr.  Flamstead  ;  you 
may  rescue  him  from  the  harpies  who  devour  him, 
and  make  a  whole  family  happy  without  harming 
a  single  hair  to  yourself.'  And  the  man  should  say 
in  return,  '  To  be  sure,  you  are  quite  right,  young 
fellow  ;  and  I  will  do  it.'  How  easily  such  things 
are  done  on  paper — but  stutf!  it  is  not  so  easily 
done  on  this  mercenary  earth.     One  cannot  fall  in 


150  jonx  FOX   AGAP.. 

with  these  heroes  of  romanoe — these  inch  of  pTcat 
hearts  and  generous  sentiments.  All  men,  espe- 
cially men  of  money,  arc  now-a-days  so  dreadfully 
unsentimental.  They  arc  >o  abominably  tribesman- 
like.     I  bo timi  -  amuse  myself — but  that  is  not 

exactly  t1  i  word — employ  myself,  as  I  walk  the 
streets  with  examining  all  the  gentlemen's  counte- 
nances, to  Be  ■  if  I  could  Snd  a  poet  or  a  hero  among 
them,  and  1  know  not  how  it  is,  I  think  I  must  ho 
miserably  uncharitable;  there  seems  nothing  hul  a 
cold,  polished,  selfish  expression  on  all  t  ■  •  ■-.  No, 
this  old  gentleman,  who,  however,  does  what  no  one 
else  does — walk  out  of  his  way  to  talk  with  a  young 
fellow  with  an  axe  in  his  hand — will  talk  of  sym- 
pathy, hut  that  will  be  all;  and  that  is  all  that  I 
shall  ask  from  him." 

This  old  gentleman,  however,  did  not  only  visit 
George,  hut  his  father  also.  He  was  sure  of  a  cor- 
dial reception  from  Mr.  Henry  Flamstead,  hecauso 
he  came  to  talk  of  the  Clockmaker.  He  declared 
that  he  remembered  Henry  Flamstead  as  a  littlo 
boy,  having  seen  him  once  at  his  uncle's,  and  de- 
scribed his  appearance  and  dress,  which  were  ex- 
actly those  of  himself,  in  a  miniature  of  himself  at 
that  age,  which  he  possessed.  He  tried  to  recall 
some  remembrance  of  the  stranger,  and  had  a 
strange  feeling  that  he  had  certainly  seen  him — 
nay,  could  recall  the  tones  of  his  voice — hut  yet 
could  make  out  nothing  clearly.  They  talked  for 
many  hours  of  the  Clockmaker,  for  whom  Henry 
Flamstead  could  not  sufficiently  express  bis  affec- 
tionate remembrance;  of  the  confidence  he  enter- 
tained, that,  were  he  here,  he  would,  by  the  energy 
of  his  character,  speedily  relievo  him  from  his 
ruthless  enemies.  From  this  they  went  into  the 
atFairs  of  the  estate  ;  and  the  old  gentleman,  who 
seemed  well  acquainted  with  the  laws  and  usages 
connected  with  property,  displayed  much  interest 
in  diving  into  all  the  intricacies  of  the  question, 


JOHN   FOX   AGAIN.  151 

and  in  endeavouring  to  make  himself  master  of  all 
its  difficulties.     His  good  sense,  his  affability,  his 
knowledge  of  the   world   and  foreign   lands,  but 
above  all  his  praises  of  the  fine  spirit  of  George, 
made  Mr.  Fox  speedily  a  welcome  visitor  at  the 
cottage ;  and  it  became  a  frequent  afternoon's  walk 
of  his  over  tbere,  wben  he  would  listen  to  all  Mr. 
Flamstead's  details  of  his  views   and  his   troubles 
with   his  creditors.     It  was  not  long  before  he 
seemed  to  have  possessed  himself  of  a  clear  notion 
of  the  case,  and  pointed  out  to  Mr.  Flamstead  where 
he  thought  matters  had  gone  wrong,  and  what  were 
the  great  obstacles  in  the  way  of  his  ever  recovering 
his  property.     That  Mr.  Screw  Pepper  was  an  arch 
scoundrel,  and  was  pluming  himself  from  the  spoils 
of  the  estate,  he  declared  himself  as  sure  of  as  that 
he  lived,     lie  promised  to  keep  an  eye  on  the  affair, 
and  to  give  Mr.  Flamstead  any  advice  and  aid  that 
he  could,  whenever  there  appeared  any  opportunity 
of  doing  so.     Mr.  Flamstead  was  no  little  elated  by 
the  acquisition  of  the  acquaintance  of  this  able  and 
experienced  man,  and  was  never  so  happy  as  when 
he  saw  him  marching  slowly  down  the  towing-path 
of  the  canal,  with  his  curious  fox-stick  in  his  hand. 
He  was  quickly  seen  from  a  little  window  near  the 
fire-place,  by  which  the  approach  of  the  boats  was 
watched,  and  Miss  Nancy,  to  whom  he  showed  a 
great  liking,  speedily  began  to  set  out  the  tea-things, 
and  send  off  one  of  the  children  for  some  fresh 
radishes  out  of  the  garden,  and  cresses  from  the 
brook  that  ran  at  its  bottom.     He  was  very  atten- 
tive to  Mrs.  Flamstead,  whose  health  was  now  much 
better,  though  she  was  far  from  having  regained 
the  sunny  brightness  and  joyousness  of  her  former 
life.     Her  genuine  religion  induced  her  to  strive  for 
contentment  and  thankfulness,  that  in  the  troubles 
that  had  overtaken  them,  they  had  been  favoured 
with  a  haven  of  shelter,  humble  and  lowly  as  it 
was.     But  the  experience  and  habits  of  her  whole 


159  JOHN    1"\      \o\IN. 

earlier  life  led  her  at  t'  time  desplj  to  re- 

gret what  they  had  lost,  when  she  looked  round 
and  -aw  her  troop  of  blooming  children,  and  asked 
herself  how  they  were  to  be  educated — how  est 
lished  in  life!— if  they  were  really  to  descend  from 
the  station  whioh  their  fathers  had  always  ot 
pied,  and  to  have  to  battle  with  the  roughest  cir- 
cumstanoes  of  life;  it  was  enough  to  fall  with  a 
dismal  heaviness  on  her  heart.  Then  there  was 
her  excellent  husband,  patiently  but  with  a  down- 
cast spirit  performing  his  hnmble  duties  for  his 
humble  pittance,  while  the  daily  and  the  hourly 
thonghl  of  his  bosom  was  the  blight  of  all  his 
hope — the  ruin  of  his  paternal  estate  I  Then  t!. 
was  George,  so  good!,  so  sensible,  so  dutiful  and  self- 
Bacrificing,  who,  instead  of  the  heir  ofDainsby,  was 
the  labouring  companion  of  artisans;  and,  finally, 
there  was  the  Borrowfu]  fate  of  Betsey — a  wringing 
memory  to  a  mother's  heart.  It  must  he  confessed 
that  .Mrs.  Flamstead  had  enough  to  bend  her  clown 
with  sighs  and  tears  ! 

On  these  subjects  how  many  hours  did  she  con- 
verse with  Mr.  i'ox !  There  was  a  sincere'  tone  of 
sympathy  that  drew  her  to  him.  lie  listened,  and 
without  denying  that  her  sorrows  had  a  deep  and 
bitter  root,  he  would  still  throw  in  a  consolatory 
hope;  things,  he  trusted,  would  mend.  They  had 
at  least,  a  certain,  though  a  somewhat  distant  pros- 
pect of  wealth,  even  if  Dainsby  were  not  rescued 
from  its  devourers.  But  even  that  lie  hoped.  Jle 
was  indignant  at  the  lawyer.  It  would,  he  said, 
give  him  genuine  satisfaction  to  see  that  fellow  well 
exposed  and  punished.  Nay,  he  would  willingly 
give  a  few  hundreds  towards  that  object  himself; 
for  of  all  things  did  his  soul  loathe  an  undermining 
upstart  of  a  pettifogging  lawyer! 

The  energy  with  which  Mr.  Fox  spoko  on  these 
subjects  never  failed  to  kindle  their  sympathy  and 
lighten  their  hearts.     Oh!   how  cheering,    how   in- 


JOHN  FOX   AGATN\  153 

gratiating  it  is,  when  the  world  deals  hardly  with 
us,  to  hear  the  genuine  tones  of  warm-hearted  truth. 
At  such  times  Nancy  would  draw  near  to  the  old 
man  and  gaze  on  him  in  admiration  that  she  could 
not  suppress,  till,  sometimes  his  eye  catching  the  de- 
lighted expression  of  her  face,  he  would  put  his  hand 
on  her  shoulder  and  say,  "  Why,  my  dear  girl,  your 
face  is  a  morning  sun  in  spring ;  it  seems  to  bring 
back  all  one's  youth  with  its  green  leaves  and  its 
dew !  " 

But  while  Mr.  Fox  grew  more  and  more  interest- 
ed in  the  Flamsteads,  and  more  and  more  a  favourite 
with  them,  when  talking  with  Tom  Fletcher  and 
Michael  Shaw,  he  would  often  say,  "  Well,  Henry 
Flamstead  is  an  excellent  man.  I  think  I  never  saw 
a  lriitri  of  purer  and  simpler  mind  and  feelings.  He 
is  a  real  gentleman ;  but  somehow,  I  must  confess, 
that  I  do  think  he  has  been  somewhat  too  much  of 
the  gentleman.  How  many  generations  had  his  an- 
cestors kept  Dainsby  Old  Hall  and  its  lands  together  ? 
and  it  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  any  one  of  that  old 
race  of  hardy,  careful  men,  would  have  ever  allow- 
ed a  Screw  Pepper,  or  any  of  his  tribe,  to  put  a  foot 
on  their  soil.  I  am  afraid  that  Mr.  Henry  was  not 
altogether  a  man  of  business." 

"No,  that's  just  what  I've  always  said,"  Tom 
Fletcher  would  remark ;  "  he's  a  good  gentleman  as 
ever  was  born;  but  he's,  let  me  tell  you,  too  fine 
fingered,  too  delicate,  for  these  times.  It  always 
used  to  give  me  a  comical  feeling  when  I  seed  him 
riding  on  a  fine  horse,  with  clean  doe-skin  gloves  on. 
1  That  was  not  the  way  thy  fathers  got  their  stuff" 
together,'  I  used  to  say  to  myself." 

"  Hold  thy  tongue,  Tom !  "  Mick  woidd  break  in. 
"  Do'st  think  it  was  th  doe-skin  gloves  and  the  fine 
horse  that  lost  Dainsby  ?  No — not  it !  It  was  change 
of  the  times.  I'll  say  this,  that  I  never  saw  a  gen- 
tleman, no,  nor  even  a  farmer,  look  after  his  busi- 
ness better  than  he  did.     He  rode  a  fine  horse! 


151  IN*. 

Well,  he  could  the  sooner  look  after  a  lot  <>f  men. 
II'-  W(  in  gloves  I     Well,  la-  warn  a  L'.-mle- 

iiiiin.  and  had  the  •  m  of  a  gentleman;  and 

in  old  proverb,  '  that  a  masfe  I  •  worth 

a  Boore  of  tnasters1  hands.'     Never  tell  me  thai  Mr. 
Flauistead  did  not  use  bis  eyes!     My  word  thongh, 
bul  I  never  met  with  a  man.  gentle  nor  rioi 
that  knew  the  value  of  a  quarter  of  corn  bi 
than  he  I     Bu1   the  times  took  him  in,  and  many 

ther,  as  clever  as  him;   and  when  a  man's  down, 

down  udii  him,  and  i'Vi-vy  tool  is  read]  to 
fool  on  him.     If  Mr.  Flamstead  had  not  had  a  con- 

ace,  he  would  have  beaten  thai  Screw  Pepper  to 
nothing.  Bui  that's  what  it  is;  th'  one'.-  a  gentle- 
man with  a  conscience,  th'  other's  a  rogue  without 

one;   and  it  needs  no  conjurer  to   tell  whiofa  of  the 
two    has   the    better  of  the   strit't.      But    this  I 
and  will  say  before  any  man,  Mr.  Flauistead  has 
o;-"a-ii>n    i,(   l,,|],i   down    his  head  before  any  man 
alive,  for  he  never  did  the  thing  that  he  need  be 
ashamed  of ;  and  it'  right  things  prosper,  and  the 
a  Providence  in  heaven,  he'll  raise  his  head  one  day 
above  all  his  enemies,  and  sit  in  Dainsby  Old  Hall 
again  like  any  lord !  " 

Thai  Mr.  John  Fox,  although  he  seemed  to  ride 
with  Tom  Fletcher,  always  evidently  delighted  to 
hear  Michael  thus  hold  forth,  Michael  himself 
thought  ;  for  when  he  went  away  on  such  even!, 
the  old  gentleman  would  give  turn  a  hearty  shako 
of  the  hand  at  parting,  and  say — "Good  bye, 
Michael,  thou  hast  a  good  heart  at  any  rate."  A.1 
which  Michael  would  touch  his  hat,  and  say  to  him- 
self, uAnd  I  think  I  know  another  that  has." 

Such  were  the  conversations  both  at  the  Flam- 
steads'  cottage  and  at  Tom  Fletcher's,  that  were 
suddenly  interrupted  by  the  journey  to  Derby,  about 
the  Old  Hall.  I  must  now  take  a  view  of  the  con- 
sequences of  that  hasty  trip. 


ETO.  155 


CHAPTER  XII. 

THE   OLD   CLOCK   "WOUND   UP   AGAIN. 

On  their  arrival  in  Derby,  Mr.  John  Fox  ordered 
Michael  Shaw  to  drive  to  the  office  of  Harpur  and 
Fife,  the  lawyers.     This  was  the  great  law  firm  of 
the  place.     There  was  none  of  the  small  smartness 
of  Mr.  Screw  Pepper's  offices  about  those  of  Harpur 
and  Fife.     They  were,  on  the  contrary,  spacious, 
still,  and  substantial.     Mr.  Fox  dismissed  Michael  to 
the  inn,  bidding  him  be  ready  to'attend  to  any  mes- 
sage he  might  send  him,  and  then  entered  the  lobby 
of  Harpur  and  Fife's  offices.     Here  he  saw  on  vari- 
ous  doors   brass-plates   bearing   the  inscriptions — 
"  Mr,  Ilarpur's  office,"  '•  Mr.  Fife's  office,"  "  Clerk's 
office,"     "  Private  office,"   &c,    &c.      On   another 
brass-plate  in  the  wall  stood  conspicuously,  "  Por- 
ter's bell,"  and  the  handle  of  the  bell  hung  just 
above  it,  with  a  "Here  I  am,  you  see;  why  don't 
you  ring  me  ?  "  sort  of  look.     Mr.  Fox  instantly  did 
ring  it,  and  a  grave  man  in  drab  livery  appearing, 
he  inquired  whether  Mr.  Harpur  was  in.      To  which 
the  grave  man  as  gravely  replied,  that  he  would  in- 
quire.    On  this  he  stepped  into  Mr.  Harpur's  office, 
and  came  out  again,  begging  to  be  favoured  with 
the  gentleman's  name.     It  was  given.   Instantly  the 
grave  man  returned  with  a  much  livelier  air,  and 
begged  Mr.  Fox  to  walk  in.     Tins  he  did,  but  in- 
stead of  Mr.  Harpur,  he  found  only  Mr.  Harpur's 
clerk,  who  informed  him  that  Mr.  Harpur  was  not 
at  this  moment  within.     It  was,  indeed,  far  beyond 
the  hours  at  which  either  of  the  principals  attended 
at  the  office ;  but  that  if  Mr.  Fox  had  business  of 
importance,  he  had  no  doubt  but  that  Mr.  Fife  could 
be  found  at  home,  and  he  would  send  for  him.     Mr. 
Fox  replied  that  his  business  was  with  Mr.  Harpur, 
and  that  he  must  see  him  at  once. 


15G  tiii:  OLD  ci  ■ 

The  olerk  gave  a  rorl  of  wondering  stare,  laid 
tli.it  Mr.  1 1 .- 1 r i > 1 1  r  was  oot  in  the  habit  of  attending 
to  any  bul  the  most  extraordinary  business  after  fonr 
o'clock,  and  tli.n  now  it  would  Im-  J i i-t  after  bis  din- 
ner hour,  when  they  had  the  strictest  orders  not  to 
I  to  liim.  exeepl  on  matters  almost  <>t'  lit"  and 
death.  "Give  me  bis  address  at  onoe,"  said  Mr. 
Fox;  "or,  by-the-by,  I  thinl  I  know  it  well 
enough — I  will  go  to  liim." — "Very  well,  sir,"  said 
the  clerk,  as  it'  he  had  the  strongest  oertainty  that 
the  gentleman  would  not  bo  permitted  to  disturb 
Mr.  Harpur's  evening  repose. 

As  Mr.  Fox  returned  through  the  lobby,  the  clerks' 
office-door  stood  open,  and  he  could  Bee  by  the  lamps 
still  burning  that  it  was  a  very  extensive  apartment, 
and  bore  every  mark  of  that  great  practice  winch 
llarpur  and  Fife  were  known  to  pea 

The  olerk  who,  by  Mr.  Fox's  manner,  seemed  in- 
spired by  a  certain  respect,  and  as  if  he  had  a  feel- 
ing  that  the  gentleman's  name  stood  in  the  hooks 
in  characters  of  importance,  offered  to  send  a  guide 
with  him  ;  but  Mr.  Fox  said  that  he  knew  the  ad- 
dress  pretty  well  by  letter,  and  that  he  wished  to 
try  his  memory  as  to  the  localities  of  the  town; 
adding,  as  he  bustled  away,  "And,  besides,  I've  an 
English  tongue  in  my  bead — I  shall  not  get  far 
wrong." 

Mr.  Fox  made  his  way  te  a  long  and  wide  street, 
very  different  to  any  other  street  in  the  town,  and 
paused  before  a  pair  of  large  gates,  where  the  house 
seemed  to  stand  in  the  court,  within  a  lofty  wall. 
A  pull  al  the  bell,  and  he  was  admitted  by  the  lodge 
porter's  wife,  who,  on  his  saying  that  he  was  going 
to  see  Mr.  llarpur,  unlike  the  clerk,  made  no  re- 
mark, and  let  him  pass  on.  Mr.  Fox,  by  the  well- 
lighted  lamp  which  hung  over  the  ball  door,  could 
see  that  the  house  and  premises  were  of  princely 
size  and  character.  On  one  side  of  the  court  opened 
a  tine  garden;  on  the  other,  were  the  outbuildings. 


"WOUND   TIP   AGAIN.  157 

There  was  a  colonnade  along  the  house-front,  and 
the  lamp-light  flung  down  into  it,  showed  lofty,  and 
substantial,  and  well-painted,  and  well-kept  doors 
and  windows.  In  fact,  all  around  displayed  the 
presence  of  wealth,  and  a  quiet  state.  Mr.  Harpur, 
indeud,  was  the  great  legal  man  of  the  county.  He 
had  been  near  half  a  century  in  practice.  He  was 
the  steward  of  half  a  dozen  noblemen,  and  had  had 
transactions  with  the  affairs  of  many  others,  as  well 
as  with  nearly  every  landed  proprietor  of  the  county. 
He  was  the  clerk  of  the  county  court ;  treasurer  of 
a  variety  of  public  institutions;  and  the  great  pillar 
on  which  the  magistrates  depended  in  all  their 
weightier  difficulties — the  prisons,  the  house  of  cor- 
rection, every  such  thing  saw  in  him  a  visitor,  and 
the  most  influential  of  visitors.  In  short,  he  was 
the  great  man  of  the  place.  There  was  nothing 
like  the  petty  smartness  of  Mr.  Screw  Pepper  about 
him,  or  his  whereabouts.  Quietness  was  the  char- 
acteristic that  belonged  to  him.  A  large,  quiet 
house ;  ample,  quiet  gardens ;  quiet  servants ;  a 
quiet,  very  lady-like  wife,  who,  in  a  very  well-built, 
but  not  showy  carriage,  made  her  calls  on  the  ladies 
of  the  county,  and  was  always  at  the  head  of  all 
balls,  assemblies,  concerts,  and  such  things,  with  her 
husband,  and  the  elite  of  the  town.  Mr.  Harpur 
was  a  portly  man,  whose  well-fed  countenance  had 
the  rich,  but  not  rude  tint,  which  evidenced  of  long 
enjoyment  of  haunches  of  venison  and  good  old  port. 
He  could  be  very  solemn,  or  very  affable,  and  even 
jocose  in  his  manner.  To  Mr.  Screw  Pepper,  and 
such  people,  he  was  the  former,  and  this  man,  always 
ready  enough  to  show  his  airs  to  others,  behaved 
with  the  profoundest  respect  to  Mr.  Harpur,  and  de- 
ferred to  his  judgment  with  the  most  ludicrous  ser- 
vility in  matters  of  business. 

Mr.  Fox  was  speedily  admitted  to  Mr.  Harpur. 
The  great  man  quickly  appeared,  recognised  Mr.  Fox 
as  an  old  acquaintance,  shook  him  heartily  by  the 


158  THE   OLD   OLOOK 

hand,  and  bade  him  oome  along.  Tea  was  in  tlio 
drawing-room,  and  he  must  introduce  him  to  Mrs. 
Harpur.  Mr.  Fox  declared  that  he  should  fa 
inaoh  pleasure  to  make  the  acquaintance  of  Mr-. 
tlarpnr,  and  would  therefore  rtep  into  the  drawing- 
room  for  a  few  minutes,  and  Bhould  indeed  be  glad 
o!  a  oup  of  tea  ;  but  thai  he  must  beg  Mr.  Barpur'a 
ttion  for  a  few  minutes  in  privacy.  Mr.  Harpur 
!  for  lights,  and  led  the  way  to  his  library, 
where  Mr.  Fox  had  on  explained  his  errand 

thai  both  gentlemen  were  quickly  in  Mrs.  Barpur'a 
and  splendid  drawing-room,  chatting  with 
Mrs.  Harpur  on  a  variety  of  things  and  persona, 
that  to  my  reader  would  prove  only  so  many  puzzles, 
without  a  world  of  preliminary  explanation.  We 
will  leave  them  to  Bpend  o  comfortable  evening  to- 
gether  without  further  remark,  than  that  Michael 
Shaw  received  an  order  from  Mr.  Pox  to  tab  a 
good  hor.se  at  daj  break  and  convey  the  letter  which 
\\a.-  given  to  him  to  Mr.  Henry  Flamstea  1.  and  re- 
turn, it'  possible,  with  an  answer  by  ten  o'clock. 
The  commission  was  duly  executed  by  Michael,  and 
al  ten  Mr.  Fox  took  his  way  again  to  the  office  of 
Harpur  and  Fife,  where  lie  was  conducted  by  the 
grave  porter,  at  his  first  glance,  and  without  a  word, 
to  the  office  of  Mr.  Harpur,  and  where  Mr.  Harpur 
was  not  only  in  waiting,  but  Mr.  Screw  Pepper  also 
very  soon  made  his  appearance. 

Mr.  Harpur,  with  a  formal  politeness,  presented 
Mr.  Pepper  a  chair,  observing,  "This gentleman, Mr. 

Pepper,  is  a  friend   of  Mr.    Fl  instead,    of    Dainshy, 

and  is  requested  by  Ids  friend  to  make  some  inquir- 
ies into  the  present  position  of  the  ali'airs  of  the 
bankruptcy." 

Mr.  Screw  Pepper  cast  a  glance  at  Mr.  Fox,  made 
a  grave  bow,  to  which  he  received  one  very  much 
its  counterpart  from  Mr.  Fox.  It  was  evident  that 
such  a  thing  as  a  friend  of  Mr.  Flamstead  making 
any  inquiry  into  these  affairs,  and  especially  so  sub- 


-WOUND   UP   AGAIN.  159 

Btantial  looking  a  friend,  and  in  such  a  place  as  the 
office  of  Mr.  Ilarpur,  was  quite  a  new  and  unexpect- 
ed thing  to  him.  "  He  would  be  very  happy,"  he 
observed,  "  to  give  the  gentleman  any  information 
in  his  power,  lie  could  assure  him  that  it  had  been 
a  very  troublesome  business."  "  I  should  think  so." 
replied  Air.  Fox,  "  for  it  has  now,  by  all  accounts, 
been  live  years  in  hand,  and  is,  as  1  find  it,  now  in 
a  very  awkward  case,  if  it  be  necessary  to  pull  down 
the  11  all,  and  to  dispose  of  the  estate  in  parcels. 
You  must  indeed  have  been  very  unsuccessful  in. 
your  efforts  to  sell,  if  that  be  necessary."  "  My  dear 
sir,"  said  Mr.  Screw  Pepper,  "  if  I  were  to  give  you 
a  full  history  of  all  the  difficulties  we  have  had  to 
contend  with,  it  would  be  a  very  long  history  in- 
deed. The  fact  is  as  you  see  it ;  we  are  at  our  wits' 
end,  and  shall  be  thankful  indeed  to  get  enough  to 
cover  all  expenses,  by  every  contrivance  that  we 
can."  "On  the  other  hand,"  said  Mr.  Fox,  "my 
friend  Flamstead  makes  the  most  lamentable  com- 
plaints of  ill-usage :  that  such  is  the  real  value  of 
the  estate,  that  there  was  no  just  cause  to  take  it 
out  of  his  hands ;  that  it  has  been  grossly  misman- 
aged ;  that  it  has  not  been  fairly  dealt  by,  or  the 
estate  would  long  ago  have  been  sold  and  a  hand- 
some surplus  handed  over  to  him." 

Mr.  Screw  Pepper  reddened  at  this  statement ; 
but  on  recollecting  where  and  in  what  presence  he 
was,  he  assumed  a  mild  and  injured  air,  and  said, 
"  This  does  not  surprise  me,  sir,  1  assure  you,  at  all. 
I  and  the  assignees  have  had  much  to  bear  from  the 
petulance  and  insinuations  of  Mr.  Flamstead.  Per- 
haps, however,  it  was  only  natural  that  a  man  who 
had  lost  so  handsome  a  property  by  his  own  impru- 
dence, and  was  by  no  means,  as  might  be  supposed, 
a  nice  calculator,  should  feel  irritated  by  seeing 
everything  in  the  world  gone  from  him.  Believe 
me,  no  management  could  satisfy  such  a  man ;  but 
tiiis  he  would  say,"  continued  he,  "  for  himself  and 


160  ran  old  «  lock 

the  assignees,  tli.it  happy  should  they  be  at  anytime 
to  receive  an  offer  which  would  ooverthe  debts." 
— "And  wii.it  may  the  amount  of  thoee  debts  ho?" 
Inquired  Mr.  Fox.— M  Thirty  thousand  poundf.N — 
"  Thirty  thousand  pounds;  ami  did  Mr. Screw  Pep- 
per mean  to  say  that  the  estate  would  not  fetch  that 

sum:'' — "Yes,  thai   sum   it  certainly  would   fetch; 

but  then  there  were  also  the  legal  charges  for  law 
proceedings,  agenoy,  and  measures  necessary  to 
effect  a  sale,  which  of  necessity  was  altogether  a 
large  ram."  — "  And  what  sum  i  "  asked  Mr.  Fox. 

Mr.  Screw  Pepper  hesitated. — w He  did  not  know 
that  he  was  at  liberty  to  expose  the  affairs  of  tho 
bankruptcy,  at  least  without  knowing  what  was  tho 
gentleman's  object  in  these  inquiries.  At  the  pro- 
per time  both  Mr.  Flamstead  and  all  others  whom 
ii  concerned  would  have  a  proper  statement.'* 

"But  Mr.  Pepper,"  said  Mr.  Harpnr,  "it  seems  to 
me  only  fair  to  give  a  candid  statement  to  this  gen- 
tleman. The  bankrupt  has  certainly  in  such  an 
estate  a  great  matter  of  interest  as  well  as  his  credi- 
tors. Now  [,  as  a  lawyer,  know  that  large  expenses 
must  and  will  have  accumulated,  and  1  Bay  that  I, 
as  a  lawyer,  were  I  engaged  in  this  business,  should 
have  no  hesitation  to  state  them.  Perhaps  they 
may  be  as  much  as  ten  thousand  pounds .' " 

u  They  are  more,  I  believe,"  said  Air.  Screw 
Pepper,  hut  with  evident  reluctance. 

"Well,"  said  .Mr.  Fox,  "  say  that  they  could  by 
any  possibility  he  twenty  thousand  pounds — that 
would  make  hut  fifty  thousand — and  you  do  not 
really  mean  to  say  that  the  estate  would  not  fetch 
in  the  market  that  sum,  without  the  necessity  of 
pulling  it,  as  it  were,  to  pieces  ?  " 

"Yes,  1  mean  to  say  that.  I  protest  to  you 
that  we  have  never  yet  been  able  to  obtain  such  an 
off  r." 

'•  And  you  would  be  glad  to  get  such  a  one  '.  " 

"  Glad:  yes,  indeed,  we  should,"  said  Mr.  Pepper, 


WOUND   UP   AGAIN.  1C1 

resuming  something  of  his  chuckling  and  self-com- 
placent manner  ;  "  but  I  am  afraid  that  we  might 
wait  not  for  five,  but  for  ten  years  before  we 
could  possibly  obtain  that.     We  should  jump  at  it." 

"  You  would  ? — then  let  me  tell  you,"  said  Mr. 
Fox,  "  that  I  am  the  purchaser." 

"  You  the  purchaser,  for  fifty  thousand  pounds." 

"  I !  "  repeated  Mr.  Fox,  in  the  same  tone  as  the 
astonished  lawyer,  "  the  purchaser  for  fifty  thousand 
pounds ;  that  is  to  say,  I  will  purchase  the  estate 
here  on  the  spot,  without  a  single  look  at  it,  for 
that  sum,  it  being  always  understood  that  nothing 
but  fair  and  just  debts  and  expenses  shall  be  paid  ; 
and  whatever  surplus  shall  remain  of  that  sum,  shall 
be  paid  over  to  my  friend  Flamstead." 

K  Of  course,"  said  Mr.  Harpur. 

"  Of  course,"  said  Mr.  Screw  Pepper,  but  with  a 
strange  sort  of  chop-fallen  melancholy;  adding, 
however,  "  but  let  us  see — the  sale  is  advertised  to 
come  off  in  a  few  days — had  not  the  gentleman  bet- 
ter take  the  chance  of  the  biddings '(  he  might  get 
it  for  something  less. — "  Mr.  Screw  Pepper,"  said 
Mr.  Harpur  gravely,  "  that  is  now  quite  out  of  the 
question.  My  friend  here  wishes  to  preserve  the 
house  and  estate  entire.  He  might  risk  a  part  of 
this  at  a  public  sale.  Besides,  you  have  advertised 
the  houne  in  lots;  you  cannot  have  the  sale  except 
on  these  conditions.  That,  would  not  suit  my.  client 
— in  short,  the  thing  is  done — you  have  made  your 
offer,  and  it  has  been  accepted." — "  Oh  yes,"  said 
Mr.  Pepper  Hurriedly,  "  so  far  as  I  am  concerned, 
oh  yes !  but  still,  you  see  the  assignees  may  not  be 
satisfied  to  forego  the  sale.  I  am  taken  somewhat 
by  surprise.     I — " 

"Mr.  Pepper,"  said  Mr.  Harpur,  still  more  grave- 
ly, and  with  a  certain  severe  sternness,  "  what  am 
I  to  think  ?  You  declare  positively  that  you  have 
never  been  able  to  obtain  such  an  offer ;  that  you 
never  expect  such  a  one  if  you  were  to  wait  five  or 
11 


1G2  TIIK    i 'I  D    (LOCK 

ten  year*.  Pray,  what  do  you  mean  .'  As  a  pro- 
fessiona]  man,  I  nope  yon  will  reflect  *>n  what  yon 
are  doing,    1  am  evidence  that  the  estate  is  bought 

and  sold.'' 

Mr.  Pepper  seemed  to  gasp  for  breath,  ho  was 
pale  as  ashes,  bnl  saw  what  was  inevitable,  and 
added  in  ;i  [ow  ton.'.  "Very  well ;  there  is  ono 
thing,  however,  necessary,  and  that  is, thai  I  should 
understand  clearly  this  gentleman's  responsibility — 

of  course,  Mr.  Ilarpur,  seeing  him  88  VOUT  client.  I 
(lo  Hot  doubt  this  ;  hut.  as  the  sale  is  fixed,  it  could 
not  be  pot  off  without  the  Utmost  certainty  that 
this  bargain  will  he  completed."  .Mr.  Fox  nodded 
to  Mr.  liarpur,  who  then  said,  u  You  will  have  a 
deposit  as  guarantee  against  all  6uch  chance.  Mr. 
Pepper,  what  do  you  require  for  that  purpose  ?  " — 
"Five  thousand  pounds." — "Have  the  goodness  to 
give  him  a  cheque  I'or  ten  thousand,"  -aid  Mr.  For. 

Mr.  Pepper  looked  astonished  at  the  stranger. 
Mr.  Ilarpur  sat  down,  drew  forth  a  cheque-book, 
and  wrote  a  cheque  for  the  specified  sum.  As  ho 
handed  it  to  Mr.  Pepper,  ho  said,  "You  will  see 
now  that  it  is  necessary  to  draw  up  the  agreement 
on  the  spot."  He  rung  the  bell,  a  certain  clerk  was 
ordered  to  be  sent  for,  to  whom  Mr.  JIarpur  dicta- 
ted the  terms  of  the  agreement  for  the  sale  of 
Dainsby  Old  Hall  and  estate.  Into  the  particulars 
of  this  we  need  not  enter.  It  was  agreed  that  the 
draft  of  conveyance  should  he  ready  by  a  certain  day, 
and  that  the  estate  be  conveyed  free  of  all  mortgages, 
debts,  or  incumbrances  whatever,  the  purchaser  guar- 
anteeing to  pay  the  purchase-money  into  the  hands  of 
Messrs  Ilarpur  and  Fife,  before  signing  the  title-deeds. 

Mr.  Screw  Pepper  then  took  his  leave,  and  no 
eooner  was  the  door  of  the  office  closed  upon  him, 
than  Mr.  Ilarpur  turned  to  Mr.  Fox,  and  laughing 
said,  "A  fox  indeed  you  are,  my  friend.  You 
have  fairly  entrapped  this  wily  Screw  Pepper,  or 
corkscrew,  we  might  call  him.     He  will  hang  him- 


womra>  up  again-.  1G3 

6elf  for  vexation.  But  I  have  not  done  with  him 
yet.  I  promise  you  he  shall  have  a  proper  sifting 
and  not  one  shilling  shall  he  get  of  his  bill,  which 
is  not  justly  his  due." 

When  Mr.  Fox  appeared  at  the  inn  again,  he  was 
in  the  brightest  spirits.     He  ordered  a  famous  din- 
ner, and  some  fine  old  port  in,  and  Michael  and  he 
sat  and  enjoyed  themselves  famously.     It  was  not 
however,  till   they  were  driving  homeward  that 
Mr.  Fox  said,  "Well,  Michael,  I  think  we  have  put 
a  scotch  into  this  Mr.  Screw  Pepper's  wheel  at  last 
I've  stopped  the  sale." — Well  done!  well  done  '" 
said  Michael,  "  that  was  a  bit  of  work  worth  bein<* 
in  a  hurry  for.     Let's  make  haste  and  carry  the 
news."     Michael  with  this  gave  his  horse  the  whip 
and, away  they  went  at  full  speed.—"  You've  really 
stopped  the  sale!"  "I've  done  more  than  that— 
I've   bought  the  estate  !  "      "  You've  bought   the 
estate!— tor  Mr.  Flamstead,  I  reckon"— "For  Mr 
Flamstead?  Oh,  Mick,  I  wish  I  could;  but  where 
was  he  to  get  the  money  ?     I  am  afraid  there  will 
be  nothing  over  when  all  is  paid.     No,  I've  done 
the  best  thing  I  could.     I  bought  the  Hall  and  the 
estate,  to  prevent  them  being  pulled  to  pieces.  Only 
think  what  a  grief  it  would  have  been  to  all  the 
family  to  have  the  old  house  pulled  down  stick  and 
stone."—"  To  be  sure,"  said  Michael,  with  a  cold 
sort  ol  voice—"  but  someway  I  always  counted  on 
the  old  place  coming  to  Mr.  Flamstead  again— I  am 
afraid  it  will  hurt  him  when  he  hears  of  it  " 

:'  What !  "  said  Mr.  Fox,  "  when  he  hears  that  I've 
bought  it,  and  that  he  can  come  there  as  often  as  he 
"fees?  Michael,  you  don't  congratulate  me  then?  " 
*V  by,  yes,  I  congratulate  you— dang  my  buttons! 
1  don  t  know  rightly  what  I  should  think."  And 
Michael  fell  into  a  deep  silence  again,  which  was 
uninterrupted  for  the  rest  of  the  way.  Mr  Fox 
alighted  at  his  cottage,  saying  to  Michael—"  I  am 
in  your  debt,  Michael— we  will  settle  when  I  see 


lC-t  the   01 1)  0LO  I 

ynu  ncM,"  and  Michael,  with  a  look,  gave 

his  horse  a  cut  and  drove  away. 

The  next  day  Mr.  Fox  met  Tom  1  letcher,and  i 
ahoul  to  put  out  his  hand  to  give  him  a  shake,  bat 
Tom  kepi  his  bands  in  his  pockets,  .  sort  of 

nod,  said  "A  fine  day,  Mester,"  and  strode  on. 

"That  fellow,  Mick,  is  affronted  thai  I  have 
bought  the  Flamstead  estate  for  myself,"  said  Mr. 
Fox,  "and  has  communicated  bis  Ill-humour  to  this 
Burly  «'lil  carrier,  no*  I 

Mr.  Fox  did  nol  enter  Tom's  cottage  that  day,  but 
stei  red  bis  way  to  the  Flamsteads.  He  had,  in  the 
letter  which  Mick  had  fetched  from  Mr.  Flamstead, 
received  his  full  permission  to  <lo  whatever  lie 
thought  righl  on  hi>  behalf,  and  "could  1."  said  be 
to  himself,  l'do  hotter  than  save  the  estate  from 
utter  ruin.''  They  -will  certainly  ho  well  pi  a-.d 
with  what  I  have  done." 

It  was  a  pleasant  autumn  evening  as  he  drew  near 
Mr.  Flamstead's  cottage;  the  sun  shone  glowingly 
on  his  garden.  The  goldfinch  hung  in  the  porch 
over  the  door,  and  was  picking  his  groundsel  seeds 
from  between  the  wires  of  his  cage,  and  chirping 
melodiously  as  if  overflowing  with  happiness.  All 
looked  full  of  peaceful  domestic  joy.  Mr.  Fox 
opened  the  door — the  family  sat  together  at  tea. 

"  Just  in  time !  "  said  John  Fox,  who  went  up 
and  shook  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Flamstead  by  the  hand 
heartily,  gave  Miss  Nancy  a  pleasant  nod,  hade  her 
be  going  on  and  he  would  take  a  chair  for  himself. 
Nancy  handed  him  a  cup  of  tea. 

"Well,"  said  he,  as  he  placed  it  before  him, 
"  we've  caught  this  Mr.  Pepper  at  last,  1  think.  Do 
you  know,  1  have  bought  the  estate." 

"1  hear  bo,"  said  Mr.  Flamstead  coolly;  Mrs. 
Flamstead  sighed;   and  there  was  a  strange   silence. 

u  What  the  dickens!  "  thought  John  Fox,  "they're 
discontented  too!  Now  what  would  people  have? 
Did  they  expect  that  I  should  buy  the  property  and 


WOUND   UP   AGAIN.  165 

make  them  a  present  of  it  ?     Zounds !  I  must  see  if 
I  can't  drive  a  little  sense  into  them !  " 

He  then  went  on  to  tell  in  what  condition  he 
found  the  property,  and  related  all  the  particulars 
of  the  interview  with  Screw  Pepper,  adding,  how- 
ever, that  he  hoped  out  of  the  fifty  thousand  pounds, 
that  when  all  just  demands  were  paid,  a  handsome 
surplus  would  remain  for  Mr.  Flamstead. 

"  You  are  very  good,  Mr.  Fox,"  said  Mr.  Flam- 
stead,  and  again  there  was  silence. 

"  Well,"  said  Mr.  Fox,  "  I  did  hope  that  I  should 
have  pleased  you.  I  confess,  too,  that  I  all  my  life 
have  had  a  liking  for  this  old  place,  and  should  be 
proud  to  be  the  possessor  of  it ;  but  as  you  do  not 
seem  pleased,  I  can  only  say  that  if  you  can  find  a 
friend,  "before  the  title-deeds  are  signed,  who  will 
advance  you  the  money,  I  will  give  up  the  bargain 
to  you." 

14  You  are  very  good,"  again  said  Mr.  Flamstead, 
"  but  you  know  very  well  that  I  have  no  such  friend 
— I  have  but  one — and  if  he  be  living  he  is  not  here ; 
you  may,  therefore,  safely  say  what  you  do — and 
yet,  let  me  say,  you  may  well  call  it  a  bargain. 
Fifty  thousand  pounds !  yes,  indeed  it  is  a  bargain !  " 

"  Well,"  rejoined  Mr.  Fox,  "  I  can  sincerely  enter 
into  your  feelings,  Mr.  Flamstead.  I  know  how  you 
must  feel,  and  I  will  tell  you  at  once,  that  so  far 
from  wishing  to  make  any  bargain  at  your  expense, 
we  will  have,  if  you  please,  the  whole  estate  valued 
by  fair  and  honest  men,  and  I  will  pay  its  full  value. 
You  shall  have  that,  and  all  that  I  can  wring  out 
of  this  miserable  lawyer — I  don't  wish  to  be  hard — 
nay,  I  must  confess  that  I  want  to  serve  you  both 
out  of  regard  for  you  and  your  family ;  and  I  have 
pleased  myself  with  this  idea,  that  George  might 
come  and  manage  the  estate  for  me." 

These  statements  eeemed  to  excite  a  good  deal  of 
surprise,  and  to  soften  down  wonderfully  the  minds 
of  the  family.     They  said  it  was  really  kind,  really 


1G6  Tin:  OLD  <  I  <■■  I 

very  generous,  there  was  a  pro  it  cordiality.  Nancy 
put  away  the  oup  of  tee,  that  Mr.  Fox  had  allowed  to 
Btand  lill  ii  wai  cold,  and  poured  him  out  some  fresh, 
holding  out  to  him  the  i>lato  of  bread-and-batter, 
and  pressing  him  tu  iiiul  i  to. i  :it't ■•!•  lii-i  waJk. 

J i  11 1  somehow,  there  wasa  weight,  a  Badness,  b  con- 
straint still  in  the  honae,  and  Mr.  John  Pox  took  an 
early  and  dissatisfied  leave. 

In  the  course  of  the  following  week  the  old  pon- 
tleinan  walked  down  to  Dainsby.  Ee  Btrolled  past 
the  hall  gates,  contemplating,  no  donbt,  the  time 
when  he  should  be  in  possession  of  it,  and  then 
made  a  vi-it  to  the  Widow  Westbrook.  Thebnzom 
widow  was  in  her  yard  feeding  a  brood  of  pheasants 

that  had  been  reared  under  a  hen.  the  old  bird  hav- 
ing been  killed  by  a  labourer  accidentally,  assho  sat 
on  her  Q68t.  Mr.  Fox  was  not  without  apprehen- 
sions that  the  coldness  which  had  so  manifested 

itself  in  Michael  and  Tom,  and  the  Flamsteads,  would 
also  meet  him  here.  But  to  his  agreeable  surprise 
Mrs.  Westbrook  was  as  smiling  and  as  cordial  as 
ever.  After  some  .conversation  on  the  pheasants, 
she  said  good-humouredly,  "  Well,  Mr.  Fox,  I  hear 
that  you  have  bought  the  Dainsby  estate!  "  "  Yea, 
I  have."'  "  Oh,  I  am  so  pleased,  jou  don't  know. 
To  think  that  we  shall  have  that  dear,  good  family, 
after  all  they  have  suffered,  in  the  old  place  again. 
"  What  '.  "  said  Mr.  Fox,  '■  how  I  Tec  bought  it,  do 
you  understand,  Mrs.  Westbrook,  and  not  they" 
"Oh,  yes,  1  understand — you'vt  fought  it,  but  for 
than,  of  course!  ''  "How  of  course,  Mrs.  West- 
brook.' how  of  course '.  1  should  be  glad  to  know.-' 
••  Why,  you  have  bought  it  for  them  and  not  for 
yourself,  Mr.  Fox:"  said  Mrs.  Westbrook,  gravely 
and  with  evident  surprise,  "  1  never  dreamed  of  any 
thing  else."  "  And  pray,  Mrs.  Westbrook,"  said  Mr. 
Fox,  "as  you  are  a  clever  woman  of  business,  can 
you  tell  mo  where  the  Flamsteads  aro  to  get  the 
money  from  to  pay  for  it '.  "     ••The  money  to  pay 


WOUND   VP   AGAIN.  167 

for  it?  Why,  from  you,  to  be  sure,  Mr.  Fox,  what 
else?  That's  what  I  always  made  myself  sure  of 
when  I  heard  you  had  bought  it.  '  He  is  fond  of  the 
family,'  I  said,  '  and  has  determined  to  buy  it  for 
them' to  get  them  out  of  that  wretch's  hands,  and 
then  he  will  let  his  money  lie  on  mortgage,  and  all 
will  be  as  it  should  be.'  "  "As  it  should  be,  Mrs. 
Westbrook  ?  If  I  am  to  credit  the  assignees,  there 
will  be  little  or  no  surplus  when  the  debts  are  paid, 
and  then  what  is  there  to  pay  the  interest  of  so  large 
a  sum  as  fifty  thousand  pounds? '  "  Oh,  the  rental 
will  pay  that  sure  enough,  and  in  a  few  years  all 
that  money  of  the  clockmaker's  will  drop  in  and 
clear  off"  every  thing." 

Mr.  Fox  shook  his  head;  "I  am  afraid,  Mrs. 
Westbrook,"  said  he,  "  that  at  my  time  of  life  it 
would  not  be»reckoned  a  very  sane  thing  to  depend 
on  the  money  of  the  Clockmaker.  'A  bird  in  the 
hand,'  is  the  maxim,  you  know,  of  old." 

"  Oh  !  "  said  Mrs.  Westbrook,  casting  an  indig- 
nant and  contemptuous  glance  at  Mr.  Fox,  "  I  see 
how  it  is.  After  all,  you  are  no  better  than  the 
rest.  You  go  about  pretending  such  a  friendship 
for  the  old  Clockmaker,  and  for  the  family,  and  it's 
only  to  worm  yourself  into  all  the  secrets  of  the 
affairs,  and  then  you  pop  in  and  buy  the  place  for 
yourself.  Kow,  I'll  tell  you  just  what  I  think  of 
you,  and  that  is,  you  are  a  hypocritical,  sneaking, 
designing  old  fellow  !  What  family  have  you,  pray, 
that  you  should  need  such  a  hall  and  estate  for  as 
this?  Surely  you  could,  at  least,  have  bought  the 
place  conditionally  for  the  Flamsteads,  and  let  them 
have  it  when  their  uncle's  money  does  come  in. 
Out  upon  you,  Mr.  Fox!  out  upon  you !  " 

Mrs.  Westbrook  rose  in  her  indignation,  as  it 
were,  six  inches  higher  in  her  shoes.  She  was  as 
warm  and  as  rosy  as  one  of  her  own  pa?onies ;  and 
poor  Mr.  Fox  seemed  to  shrink  up  dwarfed  and 
confounded  before  her. 


Ms  -mi:  OLD  <  i  OCX 

sin-  Hung  the  last  food  out  of  t li*_-  basin  to  tlio 

.m:-.  and  was  turning  disdainfully  away,  when 

Mr.  I  ux   said,  "  Vuii  arc  very   hard   upon   me,  Mr^. 

Westbrook,  very  hard.     Vou  do  not  consider  that  I 

have  nephewi  and  oieoee  of  my  own  that  look  to 

me    for    provision,    and   I   cannot   really    buy   lar^'y 
estates  to  (-ri\c  away  to frienda," — "Oh,  yon  have 
relations,    have  you  {      J    see   how   it   is.      Tin 
worse    than    no    chance    lor   the    Flamsteads   at   all, 

then.    <  'h,  you  cunning  old  Fox,  why  did  you  not 

mention  these  relations  before  ;  I've  done  with 
you  I      (ii  i  out  of  my  yard — I've  done  with  you!  " 

Mrs.  Westbrook  turned  into  her  house  like  a 
Btorm-wind.  Poor  Mr.  Fox  stood  a  moment  look- 
ing after  her,  and  then  retraced  his  way  up  the  vil- 
lage, apparently  in  DO  very  agreeable  frame  of  mind. 

liut  rich  men  have  wonderful  powers  of  recon- 
ciliation. It  was  not  loiitf  before  Tom  Fletcher  and 
Michael  Shaw  were  quite  won  over  by  Mr.  Fox. 
They  took  up  his  cause;  they  were  as  friendly  as 
ever  "with  him  ;  nay,  they  argued  with  Mrs.  West- 
brook  in  his  favour. 

"  What  would  people  have  I  "  they  said.  "  What 
can  the  man  do  I  lie  has  saved  the  estate  from 
being  torn  to  pieces — has  he  not?  He  has  done 
more  than  any  one  else  has  done.  And  who  ex- 
pects, now-a-days,  that  people  are  going  to  give 

estates  away,   lias  he  not  tairly  bought  it,  and  offered 

to  let  the  Flamsteads  have  it,  if  they  can  pay  for  it, 
and  more  than  that,  to  get  all  he  can  out  of  the 
assignees  for  them — and  to  give  even  more  for  the 
property,  if  it  be  worth  it'  What  more  can  you 
want  .' 

"  That  man  can  persuade  those  two  fools  to  any- 
thing," said  Mrs.  Westbrook,  angrily.  "They  shall 
never  come  about  my  place  I  "'  There  was  quite  a 
feud.  The  Flamsteads  and  Mrs.  Westbrook  held 
more  warmly,  more  closely  than  ever  together — 
whilst  the  zealous  widow  looked  as  coldly  on  Mr. 


WOUND  UP  AGAIN.  169 

Fox,  Tom,  and  Michael,  as  the  cold  and  distant 
Alps  on  the  far-off  plains  of  Italy. 

Time  rolled  on,  and  at  length,  in  October,  Mr. 
Fox  informed  Tom  and  Michael  that  all  was  settled ; 
the  writings  were  signed,  and  he  was  empowered 
to  enter  at  once  on  possession.  These  two  wor- 
thies, who  now  entered  with  all  the  zeal  of  parti- 
sans into  the  cause  of  Mr.  Fox,  begged  to  have  the 
pleasure  of  going  to  turn  out  old  Gideon  Spine  and 
his  family;  and  having  obtained  this  permission, 
away  they  went  in  Michael's  taxed-cart.  They 
whirled  up  to  the  great  gate,  which  they  found 
locked ;  and  gave  a  famous  pull  at  the  bell,  which 
rang  out  loud  and  hollow  as  bells  do  sound  in 
great,  deserted  places. 

"  What  grass  there  is  growing  i'th'  court,"  said 
Tom  Fletcher^  as  he  peeped  through  the  bars  of  the 
gate;  "and  what  bushes  there  hangen  from  th' 
very  pillars  o'  th'  gates,  and  what  a  nation  heap  o' 
jack-a-daws  about  th'  place  1  But  here  comes  th' 
oud  woman!  " 

This  was  Mrs.  Gideon  Spine,  who  was  coming  to 
open  the  gate.  Having  told  her  that  they  wanted 
to  speak  with  Gideon,  they  followed  her  up  the 
court,  rejoicing  themselves  in  the  thought  of  speedi- 
ly packing  Gideon  and  all  his  brood  out  of  the 
house.  When  they  had,  however,  advanced  a  little 
way,  they  saw  in  a  sunny  corner  two  or  three 
children  seated  on  the  ground,  and  making  circles 
of  stones,  which  they  were  imagining  to  be  houses 
and  fire-places,  as  children  do.  The  sight,  simple 
as  it  was,  someway  considerably  abated  their  ar- 
dour. "  Poor  things,"  said  Mick  to  himself,  "  they 
are  not  in  fault,  and  yet  they  must  pack — it's  hard 
though !  " 

But  while  this  was  passing  in  Michael's  mind, 
there  appeared  old  Gideon  at  the  hall-door,  who, 
holding  it  half-open,  called  loudly  for  his  wife  to 
come  to  him  quickly.     At  his  call  the  wife  sprang 


170  THE  OLD  OLOCS 

hastily  up  tli'  he  palled  her  In,  and  Tom  and 

Michael,  who  followed  hastily  after,  found  the  <1«  ►<  >r 
banged  in  t h.-ir  faces,  and  beard  the  key  burned  in 
the  lock,  and  all  the  heavy  bolts  drawn.  They 
Bhook  the  door,  knocked,  shouted,  bnl  ;  *  1 1  in  vain. 
Presently  Gideon  looked  out  of  a  window  above, 
ami  told  them  thai  In- was  aware  of  their  object, 
hut  that  he  held  the  lion--  t'.>r  the  assignees,  and 
should  ii"t  BUrrender  it  without  a  written  ord.-r 
from  Mr.  Pepper. 

Our  heroes  were  fairly  baffled.  Tin  y  might  pis 
the  house  in  a  sort  of  siege  with  wry  little  prosp 
of  carrying  it  by  storm  ;  they  therefore  hastily 
again  mounted  the  taxed-oart,  and  drove  off  to  in- 
form Mr.  Fox.  That  gentleman  was  very  indignant 
at  the  aews,  and  declared  that  the  very  oexl  morn- 
ing he  would  breakdown  the  door  and  pitohOide  >n 
down  the  steps.  He  set  out,  attended  by  Mick  and 
Tom,  for  this  adventurous  purpose:  but,  to  their 
common  surprise,  on  arriving  there,  they  found  the 
doors  open,  and  the  whole  Spine  family  fled 

There  was  now  a  speedy  inllux  of  bricklayers  and 
carpenters  into  the  Hall.  Men  were  set  to  work  to 
lop  away  wild  boughs  and  break  up  and  re-gravel 
walks,  and  women  to  weed  and  dig  away  with 
knives  the  grass  from  the  crevices  of  the  court- 
pavement.  All  was  life  and  bustle  where  des- 
olation and  silence  had  reigned  so  long.  It  was 
amazing  what  a  change  B  few  weeks  etl'eeted.  But 
this  change,  this  bustle,  this  employment  of  so 
many  people,  seemed  to  cast  deeper  sadness  on  the 
Flamsteads,  and  to  make  Mrs.  "Westbrook  only  the 
more  disinclined  for  accommodation  with  Mr.  Fox 
or  Michael.  There  was  a  regular  schism.  True, 
however,  in  about  six  weeks  there  was  some  little 
abatement  in  the  violence  of  her  feelings,  from  the 
fact  of  Mr.  Flamstead  receiving  a  letter  from  Mr. 
Fox,  stating  that  Mr.  Harpur  having  had  Mr.  Screw 
Pepper's  bill  taxed,  ten  thousand  pounds  had  been 


WOUND   UP   AGAIN.  171 

struck  oft'  at  once,  which  Mr.  Fox  had  paid  into 
Smith's  bank  for  Mr.  Flamstead.  Mr.  Flamstead 
was  much  affected  by  this ;  he  called  on  Mr.  Fox, 
and  gave  him  his  warmest  thanks.  lie  begged 
that  he  would  overlook  any  feeling  which  himself 
or  his  family  had  shown,  but  that  he  trusted  Mr. 
Fox  would  understand  the  excited  and  irritable 
state  of  their  minds.  The  old  gentleman  not  only 
received  Mr.  Flamstead  very  cordially,  but  pressed 
him  to  come  often  to  visit  him. 

Time  rolled  on,  and  it  was  wonderful  to  see  how 
rapidly  things  rolled  on  with  it.  All  within  and 
without  the  Hall  assumed  a  most  prosperous  air. 
On  the  other  hand,  the  Flamsteads  had  given  up  the 
post  on  the  canal,  and  had  taken  a  pretty  house 
about  a  mile  from  Daiusby.  In  Derby,  since  Mr. 
Harpur  had  got  hold  of  the  business,  such  discover- 
ies were  made  of  the  dishonest  transactions  of  Mr. 
Screw  Pepper,  that  not  only  had  the  said  amazing 
sum  of  ten  thousand  pounds  been  struck  oft"  his  bill, 
but  Mr.  Harpur  declared  he  never  would  cease  till 
he  was  struck  off  the  roll  of  attorneys.  So  vigor- 
ously did  he  prosecute  this  object  that  one  day  it 
was  rumoured  that  Mr.  Pepper  had  not  only  taken 
himself  oft'  to  America,  but  had  carried  oft*  with  him 
the  money  of  Ned  Stocks  and  Peter  Snape,  which 
had  been  left  in  his  hands  for  him  to  invest  again 
for  them.  This  was  news  that  seemed  to  rejoice 
every  body  that  heard  it,  for  these  greedy  and  re- 
morseless men  were  the  original  cause  of  all  the 
Flamsteads'  troubles.  At  the  winding  up  of  the 
accounts  of  the  Dainsby  estate,  five  thousand  pounds 
more  out  of  the  fifty  thousand  paid  by  Mi-.  John 
Fox  were  handed  over  to  Mr.  Flamstead. 

So  far  had  these  circumstances,  and  the  very 
friendly  disposition  of  Mr.  Fox  towards  the  Flam- 
stead family  softened  every  painful  feeling  occasioned 
by  his  purchase  of  the  estate,  that  though  none 
of  them  had  ventured  near  the  Hall  since  he  had 


172  tiii:  OlD  <  LOCI 

removed  to  it,  yel  as  OhriBtmaa  was  approaching, 
Mr.  Poi  ventured  on  the  bold  experiment  i>i'  invit- 
ing  the  whole  family  to  come  and  eat  their  Christ- 
mas dinner  with  him.  He  knew,  he  laid,  that  it 
would  be  a  bard  Btruggle  for  them,  hut  to  mall 
easier  lie  would  invite  them  all  alone,  and  he  hinted 

that,  as  he  expressed  it,  the  ice  once  broken,  they 
would  nut  find  it  again  difficult 
It  was  a  hard  oombal  between  sensibility  and  a 

sense  of  duty.     Fifteen  thousand  pounds  Mr.  I 
had  been  the  means  of  saving  to  them;  be  had  rid 
them  and  the  country  of  their  worsl   enemy  ;  he 

had  saved  the  estate  and  the  heloved  old  house  from 
dismemberment  and  ruin;  and  who  could  tell  whi- 
ther or  not  one  day,  when  the (.'loekmaker's  fortune 
fell  in,  they  might  not  have  a  chance  of  purchasing 
it  once  more.  Besides  this,  the  old  gentleman  still 
declared  that  he  would  have  the  estate  valued,  and 
that  they  should  have  the  benefit  of  it;  and  still 
offered  George  a  handsome  income  to  live  with  him, 
and  to  become  his  steward. 

These  considerations  were  not  to  be  overlooked. 
They  put  a  stern  restraint  on  their  feelings,  and  re- 
solved, cost  what  it  would,  to  accept  the  invitation. 

The  day  came.  As  the  dinner  hour  approached, 
the  Flamsteads  in  their  simple  barouche  drove  up 
the  village,  and  up  to  the  Hall  gates.  The  villagers 
gazed  all  from  their  window-  as  they  went  in  that 
direction;  and  when  they  actually  saw  i hem  take 
the  turn  to  the  Hall,  they  were  lost  in  astonishment. 
Why  they  are  actually  going  to  the  Hall!  They 
are  actually  gone  there!  How  can  they  bear  to  see 
that  old  place  in  the  hands  of  a  stranger  '. 

Yes,  we  may  repeat  the  question,  and  say,  How 
could  they  i  It  was  a  severe  trial.  As  the  servants 
in  rich  liveries  came  out  on  the  steps  to  receive 
them,  1  believe  that  there  was  not  one  of  the  party 
Who  did  not  tremble  every  limb.  They  entered  the 
well  known  hall.     How  exactly  was  every  thing  as 


"WOUND  VP  AGAIN.  173 

it  had  been !  but  how  bright  and  beautiful !  There 
was  the  curious  cuckoo-clock  which  had  been  made 
by  Nicholas  Flamstead,  but  without  hisname,  which 
at  that  moment  struck  five,  with  the  same  soft 
ringing  tones,  and  the  cuckoo  shouting  from  within. 

Mr.  Fox  came  from  the  library  to  meet  them. 
He  welcomed  them  most  heartily,  but  yet  with  a 
respectful  tenderness,  which  showed  that  he  under- 
stood their  feelings.  He  led  them  into  the  ample 
drawing-room  that  they  knew  so  well ;  the  very 
children  were  silent  with  the  effect  of  memory,  and 
the  sense  of  the  present.  Mr.  Fox  led  Mrs.  Flam- 
stead  to  the  sofa,  and  placed  her  in  the  very  spot 
she  used  so  ^commonly  to  occupy ;  she  could  no 
longer  contain  herself,  and  her  tears,  spite  of  her- 
self, burst  forth.  The  kind  host  did  not  seem  to 
notice  it,  but  bustled  about,  and  made  every  one  be 
seated,  and  then  began  talking  of  the  villain  Pepper 
— a  subject  which  he  hoped  would  arouse  them,  and 
turn  them  a  little  from  the  present  scene.  He  told 
them  of  the  sharp  pursuit  which  had  been  made 
after  him,  and  the  narrow  escape  he  had  had  of 
being  taken  on  board  the  vessel,  when  under  sail 
from  Liverpool.  He  then  entered  into  other  details 
of  his  notorious  exploits.  Dinner  was  announced, 
and  he  led  in  Mrs.  Flamstead. 

There  was  an  awkwardness  here  that  even  Mr. 
Fox  seemed  to  feel  vividly.  At  the  head  of  that 
table  had  Mrs.  Flamstead  so  many  years  presided. 
But  he  said,  "  Here,  my  dear  Mrs.  Flamstead,  you 
are  very  delicate,  you  must  take  your  seat  by  me. 
Miss  Nancy  will  oblige  me  by  taking  the  head  of 
the  table."  They  sat  down  in  silence.  It  was  a 
heavy  affair.  Old  feelings  and  memories  came  crowd- 
ing upon  them  on  so  many  sides,  that  the  dinner 
seemed  rather  to  choke  them  than  do  them  any 
good.  It  was  a  thorough  martyrdom.  The  host 
exerted  himself  wonderfully  to  talk  and  to  infuse 
some  liveliness  into  the  group,  but  it  did  not  succeed. 


17-i  THE    OLD    il  o<  K 

When  the  de  wrl  was  se1  on  the  table  and  the 
servants  withdrawn,  the  hosl  himself  teemed  to 
breathe  more  freely.     He  pul  round  the  decant 
helped  to  fruit,  and*  said,  "  Dome,  now,  pray  do  let  us 
be  a  little  gayer.    There  Is  nothing  which  I  bo  rouoh 
wish  as  to  acoustom  yon  to  come  here  often,  and  to 
come  with  pleasure.    George,  my  good  fellow,  do 
out  some  of  those  oranges  for  as.     Nancy,  my< 
distribute  Borne  of  those  almonds  and  raisins  amongst 
the  youngsters.     Bob  there  I     You  are  fond  of  nuts, 
I  know;  w!iv  don'1  yon  crack  Bomef  and  give  Jane 
some,  who  sits  beside  you  as  meek  as  if  she  beloi 
to  nobody.    Oome,  let's  be  merry.1' 

There  were  Borne  melancholy  Bmilea,  and  a  vain 
attempt  to  comply,  but  it  (MM  a  vain  one.  How 
eovli  they  be  merry  there  J 

"This  will  never  do!  "  exclaimed  the  old  pvntle- 
man,  Btriking  his  hand  upon  the  table.  "  Wo  must 
try  another  song.  Li-ten,  my  friends,  1  have  some 
news  tor  you.  The  Olockmaker — 1  have  heard  of 
him  to-day — he  is  alive!  " 

It  was  as  if  he  had  given  an  electric  shock  to  the 
Whole  family — they  started  up  from  their  seats — 
"Alive!   You  have  heard  of  him?  Where.'   I  low?" 

Mr.  Flamstead  looked  as  if  he  saw  a  ghost.  His 
face  was  ashy  pale ;  his  eyes  seemed  starting  from 
his  head  with  intense  anxiety,  his  left  hand  was 
thrust  into  his  hair,  while  his  right  rested  on  the 
talde  to  support  him.  "Alive!  Is  my  uncle  then 
in  England?  Thank  God,  that  I  may  yet  see  him 
again  in  life  !  " 

"Henry,"  said  the  host  solemnly,  "should  you 
know  the  Clockmaker  if  you  saw  him  ?  May  not 
forty  years  have  altered  him  past  your  recogni- 
tion?" 

"No,  no!  I  cannot  believe  it — I  see  him  clearly 
as  on  the  last  day  we  parted — my  uncle's  form  is 
impressed  upon  my  memory  by  so  much  kindness — 
I  should  know  him  the  moment  I  saw  him!  " 


WOUND   UP   AGAIST.  175 

The  old  man  smiled,  and  then  shaking  his  head, 
said,  "  Henry,  you  are  mistaken;  you  see  him  as  he 
was,  not  as  he  is.  Time  is  a  cunning  disguiser. 
You  have  seen  your  uncle,  and  did  not  know  him.' 
He  has  been  with  you ;  has  talked  with  you,  but 
you  knew  him  not.  /  am  Nicholas  Flamstead,  the 
Clochaaker  !  " 

There  was  a  moment's  silence  of  startled  astonish- 
ment, and  then  an  exclamation,  "You!  you  our 
uncle  I  You,  indeed,  our  beloved,  long-lost  uncle !  " 
"  I  see  it !  "  then  cried  Henry  Flamstead,  frantic- 
ally striking  his  hand  on  his  forehead,  "  how  could 
I  be  so  blind !  How  often  have  I  felt  that  I  knew 
that  voice— that  that  eye  had  a  familiar  expression!  " 
He  sprang  forward :  there  was  a  scene  of  embracing 
and  weeping,  and  recognition,  that  made  the  very 
servants  in  the  hall  wonder  what  was  the  matter. 

When  the  confusion  and  the  excitement  had  some- 
what abated,  "  Yes,"  said  the  old  man,  radiant  with 
smiles  and  emotion,  "  I  am  the  Olockmaker— in  this 
house  I  was  born,  and  lived  here  a  boy  and  a  youth ; 
from  this  house  I  went  forth  and  commenced  life  for 
myself;  a  mother's  blessed  memory  hallows  this 
house :  no  wonder  that  it  was  dear  to  me.  You  are 
the  only  relations  I  have  in  this  world.  This  house 
and  all  it  contains  are  yours !  "  His  voice  was  here 
choked  with  emotion,  and  tears  and  sobs  of  affec- 
tionate gladness  were  heard  all  round  him. 

"  What,"  said  he,  again  recoveringJiimself,  "  what 
so  delightful  could  I  picture  to  myself,  as  to  spend 
the  evening  of  my  days  amongst  those  who  are  near- 
est and  dearest  to  me  ?  I  came  back  with  a  tremb- 
ling heart.  The  circumstances  of  an  eventful  youth 
had  made  me  keep  aloof  so  long  from  my  native 
land,  that  I  hardly  knew  how  I  should  find  things 
here.  News  that  came  to  me  from  my  friend  Har- 
pur  hastened  my  steps.  I  was  but  just  in  time  to 
save  this  place,  and  to  punish  a  scoundrel  on  whose 
course  my  eye  had  long  been  fixed.  Thank  God  that 
i  was  in  time,  and  that  now  all  is  safe.     Here  is 


17G  Tin:  or.n  clock 

your  own  home;  bat  here  also  is  mine.  I  have  taken 
the  liberty  to  select  two  rooms  fox  my  own.  The 
bedroom  I  used  i"  ooocpy  when  a  boy  here,  and  the- 
little  library  which  overlooks  my  favourite  view  of 
the  village,  l'Ut  thai  reminds  mo — wo  must  send 
the  oewa  to  sirs.  Westbrook;  1  am  not  <mito  easy 
till  she  and  ]  are  friends;  she  is  a  woman  in  tec 
thousand;  I  would  not  be  a  day  Longer  out  of  her 
favour  for  t lie  worth  of  her  farm." 
At  this  apsprung  the  whole  troop  of  children,  all 

r  to  run  off.      "  Nay!    nay!    stop!    Btopl  "   Olied 

the  Olockmaker.  "George  and  Nancy,  you  shall 
stay  here.  What,  it  is  so  late  is  it,  for  theobildrenf 
— well,  it  is  a  line  moonlight  night,  ami  not  a  quar- 
ter of  8  mile'.--  run  lor  them  ;  let  them  go — you  shall 
meet  them  and  Mrs.  WeM brook  at  the  gate,  lor  I'll 
lay  any  money  she  will  come  back  with  them." 

Away  went  the  young  ones,  and  such  of  the  vil- 
lagers as  were  out  wondered  what  was  the  matter. 
Presently  the  whole  troop  burst  into  Mrs.  West- 
brook's  house.  "  Our  uucle  the  Clockmaker  is 
cornel  our  uucle  the  Clockmaker  is  come!  It's 
Mr.  Fox!  he's  at  the  Hall — we're  all  there,  and  it's 
to  be  our  home  again !  " 

They  seized  on  the  bewildered  widow,  and  began 
dragging  her  along  with  them,  never  noticing  Michael 
Shaw,  who,  dressed  in  his  very  best,  had  been 
eating  a  little  supper  with  the  widow.  ,k  You  must 
come !  come  instantly.  He  has  sent  lor  you.  Papa 
and  mamma  want  you — they  all  want  you  !  " 

By  the  help  of  Michael  Shaw  the  Widow  West- 
brook  soon  understood  the  cause  of  all  this  jubila- 
tion, and  presently  the  out-of-door  villagers  saw 
her  very  hastily  moving  along,  surrounded  by  the 
i'lamstead  children,  some  of  whom  were  skipping 
before  her,  some  holding  by  her  cloak. 

The  handsome  widow  seemed  to  be  laughing  and 
crying  at  the  same  time.  At  length  some  villager 
said  to  her,  i-  H  hat's  amiss,  Mrs.  \\  estbrook.  Pray 
what's  all  this  about '.  " 


WOUND   UP  AGAIN.  177 

"  Good  news !  "  cried  the  widow,  pointing  to  the 
Hall,  and  hastening  on ;  she  could  say  no  more,  but 
the  children  cried,  "  Oh,  yes !  good  news — our  uncle 
the  Clockmaker  is  come  again !  " 

The  news  flew  from  house  to  house ;  and,  late 
though  it  was,  it  reached  the  ears  of  the  ringers. 
At  once  they  ran  off"  to  the  steeple ;  and  before  Mrs. 
Westbrook  had  reached  the  Hall,  the  bells  were 
ringing  away  merrily  for  the  return  of  the  Clock- 
maker. 

We  need  not  say  how  George  and  Nancy  Flam- 
stead  met  the  widow  at  the  gate,  or  how  they  led 
her  in  in  triumph,  or  how  she  was  received  by  the 
Clockmaker  and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Flamstead. 

A  glorious  evening  was  that  at  the  Hall;  and 
before  it  was  over,  Michael  Shaw  and  Tom  Fletcher 
walked  in.  The  rogues !  they  had  been  a  long  time 
in  the  secret.  The  pretended  John  Fox  was 
obliged  to  let  them  into  it.  O  how  Widow  West- 
brook  scolded  them  for  shabby  fellows  for  not  let- 
ting her  into  the  secret!  and  yet  there  are  those 
who  say,  that  in  her  joy  she  must  soon  have  for- 
given Michael,  for  in  the  very  next  March  their 
banns  were  published  in  Dainsby  Church,  and  there 
was  a  merry  wedding  in  April,  and  as  merry  a  piece 
of  work  in  transporting  the  windmill,  and  erecting 
it  on  the  hill  above  the  widow's  house,  on  a  piece 
of  land  given  to  him  by  Nicholas  Flamstead  as  a 
keepsake.  George  was  seen  on  this  occasion  with 
his  axe  and  his  hammer,  and  never  was  a  merrier 
evening  spent  than  at  the  house  of  Widow  Westb 
no,  we  are  wrong — at  that  of  Michael  and  Phoebe 
Shaw,  where  the  Flamsteads,  the  Harpurs,  and 
honest  Tom  Fletcher  were  assembled  to  cele- 
brate the  raising  of  the  mill ;  and  when  the  final 
toast  given  by  Henry  Flamstead,  was — "  The  happy 
return  of  my  Uncle  the  Clockmaker!'1'' 

THE   END. 


A  LIST  OF 

NEW    WORKS 

IJV    GENERAL    LITERATURE, 

PUBLISHED    BY 

D.    APPLETON    AND    COMPANY, 
346  &  34S  Broadway,  N.  Y. 


Complete  Catalogues,  contain ifig/ull  descriptions,  to  be  Ao* 
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Agriculture  &  Rural  Affairs. 


t.     Bsiiigault'e  Rural  Economy, 
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Waring's  (Clements  of  Agriculture,        7o 

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Mien's  Philosophy  of  Mechanics,  , 

arnot's  Gothic  Architecture,  .        , 

Bassnett's  Theory  of  Storms,  .        . 

Bourne  "ii  the  Steam  Engine,.        . 

Byrne  on   Loguri thins,     .        .        , 

Chapman  on  the  American  Ritle,    . 

Comma's  Preservation  of  Health,   . 

Uullum  on  Military  Bridges,  . 

Downing  Country  Houses,    , 

Field's  City  Architecture,       .        , 
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